Jane Eyre: A Retelling
by True.th
Summary: On hiatus, but many of you already knew that. The title says it all. A simple retelling of the greatest love story penned. M because of the wedding night.
1. Chapter 1

**_AN_****:**_ Hello, all. This is my tribute to **Jane Eyre**, that fantastic piece of British Literature that I have read 100 times over. This fanfic is not all that lengthy, a mere 60,000 words or so, expounding on Jane's adulthood, developing romance and heartache regarding that fine fellow of a fictional man, Edward Fairfax Rochester. I have this story posted elsewhere, and perhaps one or two readers may recognize the handiwork under another pseudonym, but that "person" and I are one and the same. For those who do recognize the work, you'll find this one glossed (hopefully) of previous typos and errors and filled with more details. _

_May you enjoy this little story crafted with care and love and for the pure enjoyment of writing. :)_

_PS. First couple of chapters are on the short side. _

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**_Chapter 1: The Mystery at Thornfield_**

**_(Jane's POV)_**

Thornfield was a pleasant enough place. I could traverse the halls for countless hours examining each painting, inspecting each woven tapestry, marveling at the beauty of its grounds. When not working with my pupil, I gave much time to scrutinizing its well-varied inmates save one – the woman who kept watch at the North Tower, Grace Poole. I would catch the flicker of light in the stillness of the evening where she kept her lonely vigil, but had yet to visit her in her rooms. As a matter of course, I was purposely denied from entering. No one had ever told me outright, but too many convenient excuses were manufactured whenever I wandered near that area. Having been restrained from a young age to calm my inner wild child, I let it be. I suppose a part of me thrilled at the hush-hushness of it all.

There was also the perplexing matter of the whereabouts of the master, Mr. Rochester. I had no idea who the gentleman was or what he looked like, so long had he been absent from his home.

My new residence proved a place of great acquaintances. I believed myself held in good esteem by the venerable Mrs. Fairfax, Thornfield's head housekeeper. Soft-spoken Leah, a younger housemaid much closer in age to myself, always had a kind word. My pupil's nurse, Sophie, clung to me as I could communicate with her in her native tongue; seldom of the other servants could, nay, none save the master. And my young charge, little Adele. She amused me greatest, and such an eager speaker! But the conversations amongst my new circle of acquaintances lacked what I sought. The topics from the aforementioned adults ranged from the weather to the particulars of their respective duties. This was to their credit, their characters incapable of uttering malicious or unwelcome gossip. But I longed to know more about things. I had lived a sheltered, almost nun-like life, and had little acquaintance and experience with the great highs of the world. (Of the lows, I had experienced more than my fair share, being orphaned, abused, abandoned, and mistreated.) Reader, I do not mean I wanted to acquaint myself with the sinful, malicious acts, I merely sought to gain greater knowledge, to hear what traversed beyond the eight long years I spent at Lowood behind its stone-cold walls. I particularly sought information regarding the master himself. I wanted to prepare myself, to know what kind of individual I was in certain measure indebted to; not that his return was expected in the foreseeable future. As it was, I had been living in Thornfield for three months and had only recently learned of his existence.

Adele was bolder in that regards, chattering away of her "ami, monsieur Rochester, qui reviendra avec son cadeau." Of that I learned that the Master bought her gifts, making him a wonderful person in her young eyes. I would smile and shake my head, but would not dare sully this perfect vision Adele had of her guardian. When not entertaining me by displaying the past purchased items (truly generous judging from the quality of the materials), her conversations took a turn in the queerest direction. Her mind seemed to liken the horrific and supernatural. She would mention "ghosts" and "mad people". My practicality could not feed on such silly horror stories, and I would gently, but firmly chastise her for these nonsensical musings.

But in the still of the night when locked in my chamber, I had to admit that there was a mystery in Thornfield. However, I seemed the only one kept from knowing what curse haunted this great mansion. None of the servants seemed concerned over the ghostly laughter, the slow _ha-ha_ that could be heard howling in the night. Sometimes it wasn't a laugh. I often heard gurgles and snapping teeth, as if some vicious beast roamed within the home's halls. The strangest part of it all was in the light of the next morn the servants attributed the missing items, the demonic laugh, even the nightly mishaps to Mrs. Poole, the woman I was not allowed to speak to.

One time I did feel the need to approach her to ask her if she felt well, for the night prior she had given to the most sorrowful wailing. I had assumed her dying. When I went to the hallway to inquire what was the matter, she was gone. Orders forgotten, I pursued her. As I neared the prohibited haunt, I was stopped by the manservant, John, who said that Grace could not be disturbed, such was her illness. But the next morning there she stood, a rock-solid mass of health! I walked in her direction, a ready smile on my face, a practiced inquiry eager to burst forward, when I felt myself pulled clear in the other direction, Mrs. Fairfax insisting I needed to help her make up the weekly lists for the servants.

"Mrs. Fairfax, I shall only take up two minutes of her time. I mean to inquire after her well-being."

"She is well, dear. Had a bit too much of the drink, that is all. _You_ look a bit pale. Are you quite all right?" After several strong assurances that I was, indeed, in good health, just of perplexed mind, the head housemaid released me. My window of opportunity had been purposely sabotaged, and no more was said of the affair.

Yet another thing bewildered me regarding Mrs. Poole. Though she made up a great extent of the servants' feverish whispers and was blamed for the ongoings of the night, the staff did not seem fearful of her. On the contrary, I witnessed their stares of awe. I suppose they wondered, much like I did, about her midnight saunters where she gave in to much drink and demonic laughter, though truth be told, the eerie tones did not match her person at all. She appeared more of the cackling sort were she drunk. I wondered what amazing stitch work this woman performed for Mr. Rochester to keep her on staff.

Eager was I to meet the master of the hall. Thornfield thus far had produced a vast array of colorful characters. I believed his would not disappoint.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter 2: The Governess_**

**_(Rochester's POV)_**

I turned my ankle this way and that, testing the level of pain and my tolerance to said level. With only the slightest of winces did I reveal discomfort to my newly acquired sprain.

Pilot whimpered his deepest sympathies following the low groan I hadn't realized I uttered.

Despite difficulty sleeping the night prior, I felt myself in no ill mood. On the contrary, a fresh surge of energy coursed through me, warming my core on this frigid January day. It bore a striking similarity to the rush administered the evening prior when I had been aided to my horse.

I should be thankful for the sprain. Without it, I just may have been liable to parade about the house in ostentatious fashion. Not that I particularly cared for Thornfield. Speaking frankly, it had proved a most abhorred spot akin to the depths of Hades. But amidst the prison I likened the abode to be, I returned to find a glimmer of hope within its quarters.

In thinking of the nymph that appeared to me in the eerie dark of Hay Lane, I caught the soft patter of feet not too far from my door. I heard the rustle of swaying fabric.

Immediately my senses heightened; my nerves received a jolt. Grasping my cane, I hobbled as lightly as I could to my door. Opening it just so, I caught sight of the fairy who managed to cast a spell on me the night prior, its effects still inexplicably lingered but such was the power of her magic.

At present she stared out the window like any common mortal might, absorbed in her own reverie. What a deliciously secretive smile crept over her slender face. The expression left me transfixed, took me back to the hopeful and carefree days of my youth, unspoiled and untouched by misery and regret.

I had thought the governess pale, plain, and slight in the moonshine of the Lane, though I already knew her determined and stubborn. Yet at that moment she glowed with a joyous presence. Purity and gentility radiated from the soft lineaments of her youthful features. Her hazel eyes danced merrily in the light of day. I could not help but wonder if they would sparkle by an evening's fire.

A voice from below – Mrs. Fairfax's – wakened both her and I from our inner musings. A quick start, a series of blinks, and a slight shake of her head brought her back from her ethereal visions. Another smile, this one more captivating than the first, drew her away from the window. She seemed to chastise herself for fleeing to fancy. Gathering her skirts into tiny, almost child-like fists, she spurred away, quitting my sights.

"Damn it child, where are you headed off to?" I internally cursed. I strained to hear her retreating steps and catch her question to Mrs. Fairfax, I assumed.

"Is there anything I might do to help?"

The words were eerily similar to those shared with me not twenty-four hours prior. I was struck once more by the gentle tenacity of her voice. It soothed my jaded heart, tickled my hardened hearing.

Tonight I planned to uncover more of this elf-lady taking residence under my roof.

The thought was enough to subdue annoyance and control curiosity. I did not want to be too eager to deal with the governess.

"She may turn out to be like the rest of them," I grumbled to no one in particular, though Pilot lifted his head acknowledging my comment with a faithful wag of his tail.

Even as the words left my lips, my heart disbelieved the comment.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3: After the Interview**_

_**(Jane's POV)**_

"I bid you good-night, Miss Eyre," grumbled the master of the house.

I curtsied and left without another word mulling over the strangest conversation I have had to date in my eighteen years of life. Luckily for me, years of masking my emotions kept surprise and quizzicalness from flickering across my features. The master needn't know how much he puzzled me, but the housekeeper would.

"You said there was nothing particular about Mr. Rochester," I immediately told Mrs. Fairfax after putting Adele to bed. There was something accusing in my tone, though I did not mean to be so. I had trusted Mrs. Fairfax's rather simplistic portrayal of Mr. Rochester to be just, but now I had discovered a man unequal to any met before – hard and distant, curious and exacting. Masterful I could comprehend. One could not expect less from a man of consequence, but his changeability, his abruptness, and - had I read it correctly? - his anger at the world…. Admittedly, he was better than my scoundrel of a cousin, John Reed, or the former head master of Lowood, the self-righteous Reverend Brocklehurst. But there was something about Mr. Rochester to put me on my guard. Something hidden. I could not lay my finger on it.

I spoke these concerns to Mrs. Fairfax, yet with a little more delicacy.

"I have known him for so long I suppose myself quite used to his manners. His brashness is unnoticed by me, but I understand someone experiencing it for the first time may see it differently."

I continued to press for the reason as to why the master should be excused from scrutiny and pardoned without hesitation. His harsh and critical ways did not offend, but his enigmatic tendencies did something to excite. That last reaction troubled me a bit; I truly must have been starved for stimulation to press the issue as I did. But it was to no avail. Finding Mrs. Fairfax's responses evasive and her demeanor troubled I dropped the subject. It was apparent she no longer wished to speak about the matter. I aided her with putting a few items away, wished her a pleasant evening, and headed to my room to give free rein to my thoughts.

Once changed and in bed I replayed the conversation between owner and servant. I wondered if Mr. Rochester resented my presence in his home. He had gone so far as to blame me for the cause of his accident the evening prior. He told Mrs. Fairfax that I had "bewitched his horse". Never mind the ice on the road. Perhaps my person caused some type of disruption, a ripple in the smooth flowing stream to which his household was run. It wasn't the first time my nature offended others. But that did not seem likely as I had not shown any tantrums or given into fits of wild passion as I once did as a child. On the contrary, Mr. Rochester offered me a compliment. He admitted - almost grudgingly - that he found Adele greatly improved; that I had taken pains with her and the progress was evident. I, in turn, commented that his notice of such was a gift in itself. With a roll of his rather brilliant, dark eyes, he huffed at my response. Thankfully, I managed to check my smile.

But the gruffness did not end there. He ordered me to play the piano, commanded me to stop when he found my talents lacking – I had warned him I played "a little" - and then pulled out my sketchbook my impulsive little student had given him without my permission. While studying the contents he seemingly liked, but doubted my artist's hand. That final comment was not without its sting. I could not help but refute his statement with a snap in my voice. There is only so much mild berating a person can endure in the course of an hour. Not only had I defended, but I stared at him with mild mortification. I expected him to rebuke my reaction, but on the contrary, his large eyes sparkled with a moment's delight. I immediately withdrew my gaze.

He spoke in riddles sometimes. Strange and enigmatic were some of his words and actions. I decided to forget them as I could not make them out. I did not see the point in wasting energy over something that had no solution. Besides, future interactions between he and I would be rare if not abandoned. He had his business affairs to tend to; I had Adele to teach. Our paths would cross only by coincidence from that point on.

The thought was not without its regret. The conversation was perhaps the most interesting one I had had since my days with Miss Temple and Helen at Lowood. I missed them so! What a good laugh we would have shared over this exchange.

I turned on my side seeking sleep. Hopefully Grace would allow us all a night of uninterrupted rest what with the master home.


	4. Chapter 4

_**AN:** Back again. It seems I have too much time on my hands this week._

_**Marabel**, thank you for your comments. Punctuation and spelling do help in a story's readability, I agree with you there. ) _

_Happy reading all._

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**_Chapter 4: Confidence Bestowed_**

**_(Rochester's POV)_**

Curse my weakness. I revealed to Jane all regarding Adele…all regarding Celine.

Though not my fashion to acquaint servants with intimate details of my life, I could not resist offering Jane the explanation of how Adele came under my care and protection.

I told myself I owed her this elucidation following the irrepressible comment I had issued during a previous meeting. Catching a glance of that little daughter of Paris gallivanting about in her fancy frocks brought about a vivid memory of her mother. I went so far as to use the terms, "the little seductress". Jane's demeanor immediately puzzled – an expression which truly became her. The light hue of her eyes simultaneously sparkled and darkened, while the corners of her small lips upturned with confusion. Jane was pretty when drinking in information.

In the past few weeks I had altered my comportment towards her, summoning her nightly to my presence. She read to me sonnets and prose, and afterwards we discussed the subjects. On other visits she was my audience of one as I recounted some of my better adventures. She proved to be an eager audient, always giving me her full attention as I acquainted her mind with new scenes and descriptions. In her still way, I discerned her quiet raptures and keen delight at being able to share of my tales, albeit vicariously.

My stern and frigid manners dissipated when around her. Even if I wanted to call upon those sentiments, I couldn't remember how. Upon seeing her, my lips turned upwards into a smile, my hand flew out to hers in greeting. She readily reciprocated the warmth of my attitude. True joy lighted her features; she gained flesh and strength. It was alarming to discover how becoming the transformation was to me.

She was no longer "Miss Eyre" in my mind. I had a claim about her. I referred to her as "Jane" or "Janet". Each time I did, I felt a renewal of gentler sentiments. I yearned to be a better person around her. As a matter of course, I delighted in our nightly meetings as much as she did if not more so, only because I felt a regeneration of spirit not felt in twenty years at least.

I knew all too well the whispers that began to circulate amongst the servants. Even dull Mrs. Fairfax commented about my marked preference towards "Miss Eyre".

"She is not used to the company of gentleman," the old lady had said while preparing my tea one afternoon. "Her mind is pure and filled with fanciful dreams." It was as much as warning as she ever dared give me despite my previous indiscretions.

"That will be all," was my reply. When the elder woman had scuffled away, I sipped my tea with pleasure secretly wondering if _I_ made up any of those fanciful dreams. Jane was an unusual creature to read, she being so free of pretensions and false deceit. She was a rare breed. I had told her so.

Perhaps that was why I laid before her these glimpses of my life – these errors in judgment that befall a man easily enticed by charm, beauty, and drink. At least I used to fall victim to those enticements. No longer. This girl made me want to come clean of my past, as clean as I could, though of my capital error I felt of the utmost importance to keep guard. I would not have her judge me on _that_ account. So I shared my sad and sinful tale without hesitation.

In the middle of my narrative regarding Miss Varens I was brought to mind of that grave mistake fettering me with the weightiest of shackles. I turned my eyes upwards, dark and evil thoughts clouding my judgment, halting my present flow of conversation.

Little Jane's voice broke my despondency and brought me back to the moment. "Did you leave the balcony, sir, when Mademoiselle Varens entered?" The words were commonplace and ran the natural course of the present conversation. Except that my pause was not natural; and the elf-child's response was almost supernatural. At that moment, Jane's interference reminded me of an angel pulling back a wayward soul on the brink of utmost despair. She captivated me like no human ever had.

Shifting my gaze to hers I discovered her unabashed stare. Jane did not often glance at me as boldly as she did at present, and the sight of it struck me to my core, rattling my foundation. I knew she studied me on occasion; I had managed to catch her doing so quite a few times, and upon it happening she would immediately withdraw her gaze. Not this time. I wondered at her impression of her grim master. Certainly she did not find me handsome. She had already given me her opinion on that subject quite decidedly some weeks prior.

For my part, the look enchanted me. I forgot about my deep-seated hatred; forgot Celine. All I saw was Jane.

I have long suspected my growing attachment to this young dependent though I have tried to ward off those sentiments. I reminded myself at that moment to try harder.

She then lowered her lids and began to move away with graceful steps. There was a slight crimson stain on her pale cheeks. My resolve instantly quit. If she allowed me, I would clasp her hand, turn her towards me, and bring her dainty fingers to my lips…. I wanted the delicate pink in her face to spread, her eyes to light with fire. Oh, I knew her delicacy, nay, her propriety would be disturbed, but perhaps she would flash that wicked smile I have seen her offer me on occasion...

Shaking my head, I wrapped up my tale and made haste to return inside expecting her to follow suit. Stubborn thing she was, she staved off my request to spend more time with the young child whose mother I had given a most unbecoming account of. I was certain it had something to do with her being orphaned and unloved as well.

With a brisk stride I returned to my study, surprised to discover how much time I had spent with Jane. I decided to forego my nightly meeting with her, determined to bring my mind back to business where it belonged, trying to ignore the strange stirrings in my heart.

"You've played the fool too many times, Rochester. Learn from your mistakes." Somehow I knew Jane was no mistake. She was my key to redemption.

But the turbulence of my emotions... The doubts, the chastising, the self-loathing...

My conscience.

That evening I gave way to much liquor. I began its consumption during dinner and sipped at it long after in my study. My debauchery continued past bedtime. Small wonder I did not have the energy to disrobe myself when I collapsed into bed.

My inebriation did not save me from dreaming of Janet that night.


	5. Chapter 5

_To_**_ brontefan _**_Thank you. =D_

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**_Chapter 5: A Room Ablaze_**

**_(Jane's POV)_**

The demonic laugh. I heard it clearly. It made my blood freeze and arrested both breath and heartbeat.

A gurgle and low moan followed; the sound more than primitive, almost desperate, like a wounded animal. The half whispers, the gossip, even Adele's imaginative tales all came to mind as I listened to those unearthly groans.

My eyes shifted slowly to my door, my body following where the gaze led. I almost expected to see some supernatural malevolent figure at my side. Certainly no celestial being could utter such sinister, mournful sounds. Fear should have rendered me useless, but instead I sprung to action. A burning curiosity led me to open the door. It was not without a moment's trepidation of course, but the desire to end or confirm Thornfield's haunting spurred me to such boldness unlike any yet experienced. A bit of disappointment flooded as only darkness greeted me.

Unable to return to bed, I instead grabbed my shawl and sauntered into the hallway to investigate. Perhaps I would be able to catch a glimpse of Grace at the height of her oddities, prove or dispel the myths once and for all. A small flicker several feet from my door caught my eye, and I rushed towards it. It was nothing more than a rapidly extinguishing bit of candle. I stooped to put it out when the distinct odor of smoke and flame reached my nostrils. Glancing to my right, I saw the door to Mr. Rochester's room ajar. My heart leapt from my throat upon witnessing the smoke that escaped through the openings of the door frame.

Propriety the farthest thing from my mind, I raced into his room.

A cry froze on my lips at the sight beheld. A motionless Mr. Rochester lay spread in bed, unconscious from sleep and smoke, stupefied from drink. Still dressed in his shirt and trousers, I spied the empty bottle of liquor that had accompanied him to slumber; to rouse him, I knew, would be a monumental task. I had to try. His bed curtains were ablaze threatening to consume both bed sheets and occupant.

"Wake! Wake!" I cried shaking him with all my might. I even grasped his face and gave it a firm squeeze. He only muttered incomprehensibly. Knowing I had neither the time nor strength to pull him from the fire, I rushed to his basin and ewer beginning a liberal soaking of the sheets. I doused him as well, delicacy denied. If he made it through this ordeal, I would offer my whole-hearted apologies.

I flung the pitcher from my hand, barely registering the crash as the porcelain shattered. Instead I rushed to grab an enormous flower-filled vase at the corner of his room. I yanked the bright red petals out of their encasing and used the dirty water to douse the curtains yet again, managing at long last to extinguish the flames. Some of the water landed squarely on my master's face.

It was at that point that I heard him rouse. He coughed and cursed. I did not catch the exact wording, too busy was I coughing, panting, and heaving as well. My eyes itched and burned. Amazed was I that I did not give to hysterical screaming or swooning. Truly, God gave me strength.

"What in the name of-?" Mr. Rochester began.

"Sir, sir, do get up! Someone has plotted something against you. You cannot find out soon enough who or what it is. I will fetch you a candle!" I knew I rambled, that my voice shook. I was poised to flee the room, to make good on my word, but my master had his own comments.

"Is that Jane Eyre?" A hint of panic and incredulity laced Mr. Rochester's voice. The poor man received more shock than even he could have dealt with, I am sure.

"Yes sir, it is I. Please, do get up. I will go and fetch help. Hurry, sir!"

"Jane, Jane, slow down. Get the candle, but do no more than that." I detected a bit of ire in his tone muffled by weariness. "And give me two minutes to find some dry garments."

I did as bid returning at the allotted time. Mr. Rochester was up, his attire more decently arranged. He took the candle offered and surveyed the damage with utmost patience while I began my breathless narrative of the event.

Ready to get to the bottom of this almost murder and arson, I made a motion to seek Mrs. Fairfax. Mr. Rochester scoffed the idea. I suggested waking Leah or John, and grasped my nightgown as I prepared to flee the room. No sooner did I move forward that I felt myself halted back in place by Mr. Rochester's hand tugging at my elbow.

"Be still. Be still. You are over-anxious." He led me to a chair nearest to the fire place, settling me there. Though, truthfully, I felt somewhat shoved into the seat. "I will uncover what has happened. No need to bring the house to an uproar. You have done your part. Allow me to do mine. Be a good girl and wait here." He grabbed his robe and wrapped it around my frame.

"Do not move until I return." He left, closing the door behind him. I almost expected him to lock me inside, so guarded was he about this entire event.

Lucky was he my obedience outweighed my impulsivity. I wanted nothing more than to alert the house, question and cross-examine the inmates. I could have narrowed it down to one suspect, I had indeed already done so, wondering if she had an accomplice.

My master took so long to return my head began to drop to my shoulders. With the excitement literally extinguished, sleep began to reclaim me. I wondered if I should return to my room and deal with Mr. Rochester's reprimands in the morning. Surely he would not begrudge me rest after having saved his life.

I made a motion to rise when I heard his slipper shod feet tread through the hallways once more. When he returned to his room, he closed the door and leaned against it. The action caused a second of panic to rise within me as he now blocked my only exit. If he was not going to act, I saw no part in remaining in his bed chamber. I smelled of smoke, and was certain ash and soot clung to my face and hair.

"I have found it all out," he stated in the weariest of tones.

"How so?" Concern and curiosity piqued my interest. I no more worried about being held hostage in his bedchamber.

However, it seemed I was not slated to receive responses as my questions met with more questions. He inquired if I had seen anyone or heard anything.

I retold my tale, adding my very limited knowledge of the facts concerning the industrious Grace Poole. I admittedly felt like a gossiper, chattering about unsubstantial claims, talking of things I had never witnessed only heard accounted to me. I wished he would tell me of his discoveries and relieve me of my wrongdoing.

But all he did was confirm the stories by declaring it just as I had mentioned. He added nothing more to the tale. He explained nothing of why she set the bed on fire, or what would follow such a crime. None of it seemed right, and it all left me with an empty feeling. Mr. Rochester stated he would account for the affair, binding me to secrecy by adding I was, "no talking fool". He abruptly bade me to return to my room.

Disappointed and tired, I slipped out of his robe and readied to obey his command without question. I neared the door he ceased leaning upon when I heard him blurt:

"What? Are you quitting me already – and in that fashion?"

With a repressed sigh and restrained sarcasm I responded, "You said I might go, sir."

Not in that way, he declared. I had saved his life. A handshake was in order.

Explanations seemed to me the better reward, but I crossed to his side just the same, slipping my cold fingers into his warmer, stronger grasp. The touch made me start, but no sooner did I recover from the first shock did I receive a second and a third. Not only did Mr. Rochester trap my hand between both of his, but he pulled me closer.

He began speaking to me with strange energy about my presence, my nature. He told me of being in my debt. He felt the obligation no burden, only benefit. When I dared lift my gaze to his, I saw strange fire in his look. It both frightened and thrilled. Heat rose to my face. Glad was I for the prevailing darkness, yet at the same token I wondered if all this moonshine was not the reason for the sudden madness inflicting Thornfield's inhabitants on this fateful night.

I tugged my hand in an attempt to free myself, barely cognizant of the response I gave. I think I mumbled something about being glad to have been awake. The door stood but a mere yard away, but it felt miles beyond my reach.

I pulled back once more; Mr. Rochester responded by drawing me nearer still. Words almost visible trembled between his lips. My body did the same thing in turn at the thought of what this all meant.

"Jane, you're shaking," was his brilliant observation.

"I am cold, sir," I responded with equal acuteness.

"Yes, cold and standing in a flood." Apparently neither one of us knew what to make of the overpowering sensations that blazed warmer than any roaring flame.

Inches separated our bodies. Mortified by my obvious terror, I maintained my head lowered, not knowing what to do if he…should try….

"Jane…," His tone! It begged me to look up. I would never forget the emotion in his eyes.

_Lord, lead me not into temptation, but deliver me…deliver me._

"I think I hear Mrs. Fairfax stir," I blurted suddenly, on the verge of panic.

The words did their trick. His fingers relaxed, the grasp lessened, and I fled with record speed to the safety of my room. Sleep eluded me the rest of the night.


	6. Chapter 6

_**bonbonnett**, hello and thank you for your kind words. Six more weeks of snow and ice...? I foresee many indoor days then, much to the readers' satisfactions. But it is a good thing when people want more and not less. Your encouragement is greatly appreciated. _

_**Rhubarbsmom**, hi again! Thank you for your animating words and continued reading. You and I share Jane Eyre as our preferred novel; I know I can never get enough. As it is, I can't wait to see yet another rendition of this work on the big screen. Will be there front and center March 11. =D_

_Enjoy!_

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**_Chapter 6: A Curious, Designing Mind_**

**_(Rochester's POV)_**

There was no use denying it any longer. I had fallen for her. My little governess had become my whole world. I could spend my days worshipping her, adoring her, keeping her close to my side as I tried to win her heart to the degree which she has conquered mine.

Though I could readily admit my love and adoration for my darling Janet, I could not so easily vouch for the return of those sentiments. Last night, I thought I discerned a storm of emotions - confusion, fear, suspicion, even awakening - but I could not say I read love behind her eyes, and the speed with which she left my side confirmed the uncertain state of her heart. I knew her to be an extremely guarded girl, very discreet, honorable, ready to do and live by as she has often said, "all that is right."

And yet…I believed us suited for one another, soul mates destined for love long denied. However, circumstances spoke against the match, and the comment was not in reference to our differences in age, rank, and life experience.

If she knew. If my pure Jane knew…. She would have nothing more to do with me. Even her remaining in her position as governess was doubtful.

After she quitted the room I did not sleep another moment. Had she stayed…. I could not have accounted for what would have followed. All I yearned for was to demonstrate my eternal gratitude and devotion by claiming her lips with my own, to counter the cold she felt with the warmth of my body and the heat of my desire. In short, my impatience would have won, and I may have ruined everything before anything could flourish. She was right to plan such a hasty exit. Clever girl.

Of the sins of my youth, there was not much that could be done, but I certainly could find a way to determine her level of feeling. If she even reciprocated a tenth of what stirred in my heart that would suffice. But she was rock, she was iron! To get her to admit anything for me would require breaking her, and that would prove neither easy nor pleasant. My heart twitched with the thought, but once the idea germinated, I had to let it grow and bear fruit.

"Signor Eduardo," cooed the beautiful debutante Blanche Ingram, "come hither that you may partake of this conversation. Do not sit over there by your lonesome, brooding. It does not suit you or me." The buxom brunette flashed me her most winsome smile.

I had left Thornfield with the rising of the dawn, not wanting to see my Janet just yet. I felt too vulnerable, believed I had made myself the babbling fool. She held the upper hand, something I did not like. I left on my horse and fled, yes, I fled, to my friend Eshton's home, where he hosted a small party, the invitees compromised of some of our closest acquaintances. As I gazed at Miss Ingram, belle of the county, my plan took form. The unwitting blue blood would serve as part of my ingenious plan, be my pawn. I should return to Thornfield with Blanche at my side, nay, with all present guests in tow. Yes, even with Blanche's mother, the highly opinionated, bordering on cruel, Lady Ingram. What would be more natural than a rich property owner hosting a small army of his closest friends and announcing his engagement to the most eligible bachelorette in the English countryside? What a shock for my captivating pixie!

I pictured Jane's crushed look, her disappointed features, perhaps even a few tears as she questioned why I chose the pretentious Miss Ingram as my life companion.

_"I picked her as my bride because a man such as I cannot live alone, Jane."_

_"Sir, if you needed someone to love and cherish you, why not choose **me**?"_

_"That is a request I am most willing to obey." I would then envelop her in a strong embrace and give her the best of my kisses. She would surprise me with her adeptness at returning the exchanges. I would give free rein to temptation, tasting the creamy texture of her satin skin, familiarizing myself with the small curves of her form. She would gasp, but encourage, overwhelmed by her first taste of passion._

_"Oh, Edward..."_

Rochester you old fool. She would never admit such a thing in such a manner, less likely behave with such recklessness. That was _not_ Jane's fashion.

But it felt wonderful to imagine she could.

So after a two week absence where I reveled in flirtation by day and dreamed of Jane by night, ( I won't acquaint you with the details of the fancies I indulged in) I wrote to Mrs. Fairfax to warn her and the household of my return and that of my guests. I inwardly smiled as I thought of Dame Fairfax fretting over the preparations, while dutiful Jane assisted her. I hoped beyond hope Mrs. Fairfax gave Jane a fair and accurate account of the honorable Miss Ingram and just how much the elegant lady enjoyed my company. It was the vision of my young sprite that placed the visible smile on my face.

"Ah, Signor Eduardo, that smile suits you so much better." Blanche batted her eyelashes the morning of our return to Thornfield, obviously attempting to take credit for my present delight. My smile turned into a grin. Yes, this plan would work wonderfully. Not my brightest plan, but a fool in love considers himself wise in the most ridiculous of circumstances.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7: Jealous Jane_

_(Jane's POV)_

I sat by that window seat cursing myself for the twentieth time that evening at least, an inner dialogue brewing within.

_Can you not see he is going to marry her? Blanche Ingram is everything you are not, Jane Eyre. She is dark, tall, buxom, confident and wealthy_. Reason spoke clearly to me.

_Yes, I know. But she is also haughty, prideful, showy and feeble-minded. He does not love her. She will not make him happy. He will regret it._ I dared counter Reason.

And if he did come to regret it, how was that my concern? By the time he came to that conclusion I would have a position elsewhere, perhaps even in a school working with needy children, ones who would justly benefit from my tutelage.

Even as I thought the plan my heart inwardly bled, and not so much for my future, but that of my master's. I had thought him above marrying for the usual norms of class and wealth, he having seemed so unconventional and independent himself. Apparently I was wrong.

The more I thought the matter over the more I came to realize I was wrong about a great many things. Had I not elevated myself to something I was not? Had I not believed myself to have power and influence over him?

My naïveté sickened me greatly. My only comfort was in realizing my foolishness before having done something regrettable - revealing the love I had for him.

At that moment I willed myself to keep focused on my needlework. My eyes betrayed me, choosing instead to gaze long and hard at my master even if he refused to look in turn. My love sick ways disgusted me, but I could not stop loving him upon discovering he did not feel the same for me.

I wondered at his bravado carrying on with Miss Ingram the way he did. True lovers certainly needn't parade themselves to the general public in that fashion. But what did I know? Just because it was not the way I would behave or how I would have him behave towards me did not lessen the value of the sentiments they shared between one another. And yet as I observed the interaction, the shared laughter, the forced gaiety, it made me wonder if there was any substance, any true merit to their feelings. I did not mean to demean Miss Ingram, but her mind was so very inferior to his. I had heard Mr. Rochester make fun of the weak-minded. Who knew that wrapped in the form of lovely flesh he would find it tantalizing?

With a sigh I begged the needlework to thrill me. It did not comply.

The happy couple announced they would perform a duet. Miss Ingram took her place at the pianoforte. Something else she was adept at that I was not. Perhaps that was what did me in, my piano playing skills. I decided now was the time to make good on my escape. During the transition of activities I would slip out the back door and no one would notice. I could not say they had _not_ noticed me during the course of the evening. Indeed, my presence elicited some rather nasty remarks from several party members, particularly from Mr. Rochester's future mother-in-law. Recalling the ignorant conversation, I was only too eager to quit this fashionable assemblage.

But when Mr. Rochester began to sing, my hand stayed elevated above the door's handle and I could not reach it to let myself out. His voice transfixed me, took me to a place I had never before been. He sang so powerfully, so masterfully…. I had never heard a song delivered with as much force or feeling as he placed into this one. He had such a divine soul, my master. His song was well chosen, too. He sang about newly found love, the object of which was unique, exquisite, and heaven sent. My feeble heart imagined he sang to me, though I certainly did not merit the honor.

Only when the last note sailed through the air did I regain use of my faculties. When the party returned to their light and insignificant chatter, I slipped out into the hallway.

Slowly, I felt the return of the senses previously lacked while in my master's presence. I paused to regulate my unsteady breathing, glad I had survived this first of many torturous nights. For Mr. Rochester had speculated in no uncertain terms to Mrs. Fairfax I was to join the party _every single evening_ in that drawing room. Perhaps he wanted to culture me. I could not see nor understand any other reasoning. The rest of these assemblies might prove easier, though my sensible self did not think that likely. Perhaps if I begged enough Mr. Rochester might take pity and lessen the demand to every_ other_ evening.

I continued with my self-congratulations when I perceived my sandal had loosened. I knelt down by the foot of the stairs to re-tie the straps. I did not wish to accidentally trip over them and catch an untimely death while ascending to my room. Wouldn't that make the talk of the evening? Miss Ingram and Mr. Rochester would laugh cheerfully at the idea.

A small smile crept over my face as I thought of the aforementioned scenario. I took it a good sign; one that meant that Mr. Rochester's impending marriage would not be the end of me despite the pain my heart would suffer. Eventually I would recover. Life would go on.

The sudden sound of the opening and closing of the door broke my reverie as I hastened to upright myself. I did not want the exiting gentleman to think me slow in shoe lace tying abilities.

Spinning, I practically bumped into Mr. Rochester.

All at once I was living marble, frozen to my spot at the foot of the stairs. Perhaps he would just nod and move on as he used to in the beginning of our acquaintance.

No….

"How do you do, Jane?" he asked quietly, almost kindly.

What a difference a fortnight made! Prior to his leaving I would have cast him a sly look accompanied by a witty rejoinder. Now I resumed my governess role to her master. "Very well, sir."

He drew a step nearer, a half-smile on his lips. I tried to focus my gaze elsewhere. "Why did you not come and speak to me in the room?"

A quick gaze in his direction and then I looked away, praying the veil of my emotions was down. "You had your guests, sir. I did not wish to disturb."

Another step. I placed a hand on the banister behind me to steady myself. He inquired as to my activities during my absence.

"Teaching Adele as usual." There was no need to inquire what _he'd_ been about.

A few mere inches separated us once again. I could scarcely breathe. "You look paler, Jane. Are you quite all right? Did you catch cold the night you almost drowned me?"

Lowering my gaze, I tried to hide the quick smile that came to my lips at his word choice. Mr. Rochester had such a unique manner of expression, I could not help but react. But well I recollected his charms were not mine to enjoy. With a quick shake of the head I responded, "No, sir, I am quite well." I hoped to sound convincing.

I could feel the heat of his long stare. My face felt suspiciously warm. "Return to the drawing room, Jane. You are quitting too early. Is the show not to your liking?"

There was something pointed in his question, but I did not dare attempt to discover its meaning. His nearness overpowered and weakened me. It was with truthfulness that I responded,

"I am tired, sir. I feel a little faint." The tremor in my voice shamed me. What had happened to the confidence and resolve I had felt but moments ago? My only hope was that Mr. Rochester would show leniency for my honesty and allow me to retire without pressing further questions.

The leniency was denied.

"You seem depressed. What of? Tell me."

"I am not depressed." Ah, that was a complete falsehood. I felt ready to burst into tears; such was the upheaval of my emotions. I turned my gaze and shifted my body managing a foot on the staircase. Perhaps he would take the hint.

Instead he leaned one arm against the banister himself, a clear indicator he noticed my want for retreat and attempted to detain the act. "I affirm you are depressed. So much so that the tear stands poised to slip from its sash." He reached out his hand and lifted my chin to meet his gaze. With superhuman strength I returned his look, knowing he would not be satisfied with anything less. If I lost my struggle with self-compusure and cried, so be it, but I would not share the true reason for my tears, even if he did distrust my explanations. The truth would not matter in the end and would only subject me to ridicule. But it was torture to be examined by his searing look.

"If it weren't for some servant passing I would find this all out. Go then. Send Sophie for Adele, but I expect you to come in the drawing room every evening and to stay there until dismissed." Immediately I flashed him a look at what he asked of me, but felt too taxed to protest. I only nodded my acquiesce.

"Goodnight, my l-" and he abruptly turned away, while I did so in similar fashion.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Sarah P:** Thank you! I hope I didn't make you wait too long ;)_

_**Bonbonnett:** LOL! Yes, Rochester did many things that were manipulative and untowardly. But "Love covers a multitude of sins." ~ 1 Peter 4:8_

_And to all, Happy Valentine's Day! Enjoy the small read. :)_

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**_Chapter 8: Charades_**

**_(Rochester's POV)_**

I was in high form in those days. No clouds marred my features in the presence of my guests; I only wore the gayest of smiles. I can now readily admit to my paltry behavior, the lowness of character. I was an absolute cad, delighting in the sad looks of my secret love whenever she dared give them. I strutted proud as a peacock, all for show, all for her.

It seemed appropriate during this time of testing I indulge in a game of charades with my guests. I announced so one afternoon when Jane happened to be standing quite near. The clean, fresh scent of her soap and self assaulted my senses. Were we alone….

"Do you wish to play?" I inquired softly knowing her answer would be negative, but I could not resist. She visibly stiffened at the sound of my voice by her ear, preferring to answer with a quick shake of her head. I delighted in those great contrasts displayed in her character. Sometimes she behaved the meekest of lambs, other times she was a malicious elf. In the presence of present company she was without question the former, but how I missed our evening exchanges where she revealed glimpses of her true nature. Though relishing present entertainment, it was with impatience I wished for the party's disbanding. I would then have Jane to myself once more, making certain to stand very close if for no other reason to whisper many a more personal endearments, gauging her reactions to each one.

At present she kept her gaze from me, pretending to be wholly absorbed in refastening the clasp on Lady Dent's bracelet. All her servants, and the old woman had to trouble my Jane with her insignificant problems? Couldn't she see I wanted to gaze upon my love's face? Ah, soon Janet would rise above all these people and there will be no need for pretending.

The party divided into two groups with my band first to perform. From my spot on the makeshift stage I saw Jane resume her habitual window seat, demonstrating great interest in her book. On occasion one of the older gentlemen, tired with the game, would engage her in easy conversation, perhaps having discovered how apt Jane was at listening. She spoke very little in turn, but she smiled and nodded her appeasement. Such a model of a true lady. Admittedly a part of me envied my contemporaries' more favorable diversion.

Jane's attention returned to the game when Blanche and I began our charade. I could tell by her demeanor she inwardly chastised herself for her marked attention. My belle and I played the role of groom and bride on our wedding day. I did my utmost to remain solemn and reverent, reserving adoring eyes and loving glances for the lady whose life I pledged to commit to. Yet I could feel an extra pair of eyes – hazel eyes – watching my every move, analyzing, detecting, wondering…. Jane's gaze could haunt me no matter where I stood.

When the crowd yelled "bride" eventually deducing the word, "bridewell", the ruse was over. The crowd celebrated, and I took a moment to connect my gaze with Janet's. To my infinite delight she did not look away as she was apt to do. She held me steady with her eyes, communicated with me, revealing a piece of her heart; she cared whether I was happy or not with my choice. She went so far as to add a small smile to the look before diving her head back to her reading. I, too, turned before I cracked. My impulses told me to behave otherwise. They demanded I leap off the stage and steal Jane away, to reveal my true intentions, pledge my life to her, hear her promise of the same, embrace her with all the love and attention I was capable of displaying. But alas, my play bride spoke to me with some insignificant remark. I could no sooner recall it than anything anyone else murmured at that moment, my mind wholly attuned to Janet.

Blanche went off to attend her mother's discussion of lace on fabric. Once again I turned my gaze to the window seat, but Jane had taken her leave. Somewhere in the midst of parading my bride around, Jane had slipped away. A part of me felt slighted and inwardly fumed. Had I not given her firm orders to stay until _I_ gave her clearance? Who could she possibly have excused herself with other than myself? In an effort to subdue, I pulled out my cigar and moved towards the open window. While I puffed away and looked out on the landscape I was able to soothe my jaded senses, my mind thinking more rationally. If Jane did feel as I could only hope she did, this was not an easy burden for her. Beneficent spirit, she left her presence behind in the room to console me, to meditate on her gentle look while I subsided.

The stirring of her heart was evident. It could not be denied. The question remained how deep was her well of emotion? I sensed she would let go of love if need be for the greater good. I could not have that. I needed her to be selfish and possessive, to want me no matter what the cost. For you see, that was the exact way I felt about her.

I began to devise a new scheme….


	9. Chapter 9

_**brontefan:** Just for you, a new chapter! ) Thanks for commenting._

_**Bonbonnett:** Jane is most definitely a slippery thing. I think that is a great descriptor for our heroine. I agree with you there, that Rochester's diversions truly are of their own making. Thanks for the review/analysis_.

_**Chevelle:** You've made quite an unforgettable analogy. It wasn't until rather recently that I learned what that expression meant. Had we spoken a year prior, I would have had no clue whatsoever... But thank you for leaving me such a warm and generous comment. Hope the experience only grows more pleasurable._

_**MissPrez:** Hello! Rochester does behave more like a manipulative adolescent than the supposed rational-thinking man he should be, but we know he isn't, and thus we love him...well, I do at any rate. Thank you for reading and reviewing._

_Enjoy!_

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**_Chapter 9: How Things Became "Stranger" Still…_**

**_(Jane's POV)_**

Mr. Rochester had left the party one afternoon to ride into town regarding business affairs that could no longer be delayed, or so he claimed. Though long suspected, the master's absence proved he was indeed the life of the party, a present lull amongst the group. No conversation seemed as interesting, no thought continued for more than several minutes.

Miss Ingram appeared to miss him most, moving from the armchair to the pianoforte to the fireplace to the window and then back again to her original seat. I understood her melancholy, but her continual pacing would do nothing more at present than wear a hole into the wood. I hardly imagined Mr. Rochester would be pleased to see that.

While the master stayed away, Adele and I made an interesting diversion for the group. We were included in their conversations and asked to partake of their amusements. Excepting the Honorable Ingrams, who did not think the child or I worthy to be brushed by the hem of their magnificent garments, the rest of the group became the very picture of grace and pleasantries. I suspected I could even befriend one or two of them, given the right set of circumstances.

Colonel Dent and I were in the middle of discussing his latest trip to London when Adele came rushing forward, arms flapping excitedly much like a hummingbird's might.

"_Monsieur Rochester est revenue!_" she cried gleefully, grasping my hand and pulling me towards the window.

Despite the young child's speed and energy, Miss Ingram's eagerness anticipated us.

"That is not Edward, you simpleton," Blanche seethed at Adele, then sneered in my direction as if somehow I were at fault for the child's innocent mistake.

I immediately attempted to soothe Adele's wounded spirits, the girl's face revealing her crushing disappointment, but Miss Ingram's expression rivaled the child's. I was not sure if I should offer her my condolences as well, though stronger was the inclination to pull the satin bow off the primadonna's head.

"There, there, Adele. Do not fret so. It was a simple error. The coach has the same appearance of Mr. Rochester's." Even as I spoke the words I realized he had not left in his carriage at all, but on Mesoeur, the horse I allegedly felled with my witchery.

Another quick glance at Miss Ingram revealed something sinister in her air as she stared in turn. So many times she had ignored me, and today she could not keep her eyes away. If only her looks were not so…contemptuous. She gazed upon me as if I were the source of her woes and not the other way around. Were I lacking in self-control, I might have retorted a rather nasty comment.

_Composure, Jane, composure. Remember this is Mr. Rochester's future wife. Above all you must maintain civility if you expect him to give you a favorable recommendation when seeking your next appointment._

I knew the future Mrs. Rochester was not fond of children, at the very least not fond of Adele. Though she hypocritically smiled and called the child a number of honeyed terms in front of the master, she fooled no one, least of all him. I had noticed the darkening of his countenance when she spoke too many falsehoods in an effort to appease him. I did not foresee years of wedded bliss for Mr. Rochester and his beautiful bride, but no one had asked my opinion. And even if it were sought, I doubted it my place to offer such an honest revelation.

Deciding it best to ignore the murderous stares from Mr. Rochester's beloved, I calmly returned my gaze to the window. My eyes were greeted to a becoming man who had just alighted from the coach. Within minutes of passing through the main hall, he was shown into the drawing room, a most welcomed figure to the bored house guests and an interesting addition to the party. The new, mysterious, and exotic generally was.

As it was not my custom, nor my right, I did not flock around him as the other ladies did upon his being introduced to the affluent circle. The sight reminded me of a striking robin surrounded by snow-white birds, their ivory silks contrasting the dark of his waistcoat and trousers. To her credit, Miss Ingram stayed back, playing the role of "lady-in-waiting" faithfully. Her eyes glanced on the stranger from time to time, as if she would like to sit with the rest of her feminine party and partake of the lively conversation in that quarter. Then she appeared to recollect something and took on an air of marked superiority.

He said his name was Mason and he hailed from the West Indies. I had heard enough from Mr. Rochester about the land he previously resided in. It alarmed me the way his countenance took on a dark and almost bestial look. He never elaborated on his wild mood swings when he dared utter the place. I could only suppose while living there he gave into one of the many dark temptations that resulted in the regrets which presently plaqued him. I never inquired, only sympathized in silence, wishing I could take away whatever marred his conscience. A more tortured soul than my master's I had yet to encounter.

Suddenly I caught sight of Sam, the head butler, speaking in earnest with Mr. Eshton. "She will not leave."

"Tell her to go or we will call the magistrate. The nerve of that witch."

The latter statement sounded like the provoking words Mr. Rochester spoke to me in private. While I offered a look, rarely would I give him the pleasure of seeing me discomposed. The night at the foot of the stairs was quite out of character for me.

"What is the matter, Eshton?" cried Colonel Dent who sat across from them.

"I have been informed that a gypsy has arrived and refuses to leave until she has spoken to the ladies. And she stipulated that she will only speak to them that are young and single."

The ladies here burst into a fit of puerile giggles. I admit to being highly curious about the whole thing. I had never met with a gypsy in the whole of my life, but had always believed them to keep to themselves. Never had I heard of one arriving uninvited at someone's homestead and forcing her services upon wealthy, young, female strangers. The entire thing was highly suspect. I cast a suspicious eye upon Mr. Mason, wondering if he had not some hand in these circumstances, but he looked as mystified and alarmed as the others if not more so. Grace Poole perhaps...

"Oh, do let her stay," Blanche suddenly crooned. "I fancy myself in the mood for a little danger if no one else is."

"My dearest, reflect, consider," were her mother's words of caution.

"Show her in," Miss Ingram continued, taking no heed to her mother's warning, acting as if she were indeed mistress of the hall.

"She has peculiar terms, and will only see the ladies in the library. She says she won't appear before the vulgar herd."

The crowd gasped and laughed at the statement while Blanche sauntered away.

The afternoon had become something of a mystery. The master was away and in his stead a meek stranger and imposing gypsy had arrived. A part of me trembled in anticipation as to what nightfall would bring. I uttered a quick prayer for my master, wherever he resided at the moment, that God would give him traveling mercies.

Half an hour passed and brought the return of a rather unhappy looking Miss Ingram. The ladies immediately crowded about her, all demanding she share her recent adventure.

"Colonel, I do believe we were better sending her away. The old crow spoke absolute nonsense and at one point impertinence. But go – go!" She shooed off the trio of youthful beauties importuning her. "Have your fun. Just remember to keep a guard over your mind and thoughts."

The flock of ladies exchanged nervous glances as they deliberated who would go next. None brave enough to go alone, they decided to visit her as a group if the queer thing relented. After many meetings where Sam served as intercessory between gypsy and group, the two sides reached accordance and the small party was admitted into the library. Moments later, shrieks and howls of laughter were distinguished. The diminished crowd remaining in the drawing room could barely contain their curiosity as to what it all signified.

Twenty minutes passed and brought the return of the fair trio whose countenances flushed prettily, but demonstrated distrust.

"There is something not quite right with her. She told us such things." Louisa Eshton spoke breathlessly.

The young men rose to their feet to comfort the disheartened damsels. I watched discreetly, trying to hide my amused smile in witnessing how well each sex played its defined role.

An "ahem" at my ear robbed me of my musings. Sam stood by my elbow.

"If you please, Miss, the gypsy insists that there is one more young and single lady in the room she must see. I said that she had seen all the guests of the home. She said that the lady she waits for is not one of the party, is excessively quiet, and would only come if pestered. Not thinking you'd like to appear before her – I know your serious nature, Miss, I told her that no such lady was present. Oh, the earful I received from this gypsy! I won't trouble you with the curses she rained upon me! She said if I continued with my idiocy, she would trouble to get the gal herself. Say the word, Miss Eyre, and I will show her out. You need not go to her."

The entire account filled me with awe, wonder, and some strange type of dread. Who was this woman who knew me so well? Perhaps there was devilry in this after all.

"I will go, Sam. You need not worry yourself any longer on her account." Like Blanche, I was in need of a little excitement, true restless spirit I was. Besides, I had had my fair share of the "vulgar herd".


	10. Chapter 10

**bonbonnett:** _Am going to go for it for it now. Thank you for commenting._

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_Chapter 10: Questions by Firelight_

_ (Rochester's POV)_

Impatiently, I waited for my love to enter the room. Damn Sam and his attempts to guard my little Janet, as if she needed protection from _me_. Even as I stewed over the idea a part of my conscience pricked, a soft voice reminding me that Sam was not too far from the truth; an innocent girl should not be trifled with. The notion left as quickly as it came when at long last I heard light footsteps just outside the library door.

Anticipation swelled. How would I react if this interview bestowed revelations to my favor and liking? Perhaps Sam should stay nearby.

No, no. I knew how to behave myself.

The door opened and there stood Jane. For a moment I forgot to breathe, overpowered as I was by her presence. It seemed as if it had been days and not hours when last my eyes had laid upon her. I reacted by pulling my shawl and bonnet more closely about me, for I had donned the gypsy disguise from a poor peddler. My deceit now reached new heights. Jane, in turn, reacted by offering a curious, hesitant sort of glance, as if uncertain what she should do next.

Finally recovering my voice (a strange, cackled falsetto) I sniggered, "Well, are you going to stand by that door all night? I'm a busy woman and I have other things to do."

She blinked at the response, her lips finally parting slyly into something of an arch smile. "I can do as I please, mother. You are the one who insisted I come. If you've no time for me, I'll just return thither I came." She made a motion as if to leave on sight. No! That would not do! I suffered too many minutes entertaining frivolity to have her quit me so suddenly without a single confession.

Trying to mask my panic I chortled all the while admiring her. Lovely Jane, her words, her tone, her spirit all immediately refreshed as it did infuriate me.

"Come and I will tell you your fortune." I realized how demanding I sounded.

She came, staring at me the entire time. Her gaze was not the least bit shy or frightened. She tried to uncover something. Did she suspect?

Presently she spoke. "I must warn you, I have no faith."

"Yes, you're a stubborn one. I could tell as much when you entered the room."

She smiled smugly once more. "It is to my credit."

"It is to your detriment," I swiftly countered, spying the slight show of surprise crossing her features. I spoke more forcefully than I meant.

Without another word she sat across from me and handed me a shilling, which I took reminding myself to pay her back ten-fold. I did not want to take from my love as much as I wished to give; I was mindful that I could only give as much as she was willing to accept, and thus far she seemed not to want much. But I was determined to change that.

"I know more about you than you think," I cackled attempting a mysterious air.

Another sagacious smile followed the comment and I watched her lift her brow as if waiting for me to prove my bold statement.

"Tell me; in the midst of all this fine company, have you not noticed anything out of the ordinary?"

"I have noticed many an unusual thing in these halls. Your appearance here adds to the mystery at Thornfield."

My heart weighed greatly under those words, and I feared to hear the possibility of my darling uncovering my secret, but still I pursued the matter. "Ah, so you suspect things here are not right."

"Oh, yes," she answered evasively, "but it is not for me to reveal my knowledge. You have yet to make a believer of me."

She seemed so relaxed around me, even if under false pretenses. She was not the least bit jittery as those grand socialites demonstrated. Even in disguise, our natures and characters melded so well.

"When you sit in that window seat as you do – see, I know your habits."

For the briefest second she seemed panicked by the knowledge, then her gaze relaxed. "You have been speaking to the servants."

"Perhaps...with Grace Poole."

Here Janet started, stared, and turned her body towards the door as if poised to flee. Instinctively, I reached out a hand to stop her, pulling it back just as quickly as I realized its bareness would expose me. I called out:

"Don't fear. She's a safe hand, that Mrs. Poole, no more eccentric than I."

The words did their trick. Jane returned to me, the most becoming glance passing over her features. How I wished to gather her to me and erase all her fears at once. But for my tender thoughts, she offered me a repartee.

"That isn't saying much, mother. Your entire profession speaks of darkness. I'm on my guard."

"You're a quick one, I see. I'll have to delve deeper to make you confess." Damn, I had not meant to say that.

"Confess?" she echoed. "I did not come here to confess, and I have no intention of doing anything of the sort at present. The Catholic church is many miles from here."

I chuckled delightfully at her wit, trying to maintain my old lady-like croon. "Never mind that. Have you not noticed love amongst the members of the party?"

She paused. Her gaze lowered and a hint of a blush stained her cheeks. "I am not good at noticing such things…." Her voice faltered.

"Where is your master?" I eagerly pursued.

Hazel eyes lifted promptly at once, stared at me sharply. "He is not home," came her prompt and exact response.

"But does that blot him out of memory, practically out of existence?" Come Jane, speak. Tell this old woman how much you miss your master…how much you love him.

She frowned, defenses evidently rising about her. "But mother, I scarcely see what Mr. Rochester has to do with the theme introduced of love."

Hard little thing! "Have you not detected love in your master's face?"

Jane's eyes narrowed as a devilish smile crept over her lips. Apparently I said the wrong thing.

"Love? Ha! Your witch's skills are faulty for sure."

She didn't believe me in love with Miss Ingram! I made a vow to double my efforts. The little skeptic!

"What the devil have you noticed?" Double damn! I spoke too much like myself. If I did not remain in character then I may as well have given up on the entire game. Jane was maddening to the end!

"Never mind that," she answered promptly, lowering her gaze again. "Is it known that the master is to be wed?"

Aha! "Yes and to the beautiful Blanche Ingram." Was that disappointment crossing her features?

"Will…he…be happy?" She asked this question as if she couldn't help herself.

Damn if that question did not tear at my core! The good girl worried about my future happiness. Never had I met this creature's likeness.

My voice softened incredibly. "That is doubtful. If the woman he loves, loves him in turn, he may have a chance." Catching myself, I returned to my hardened chortle. "But I gave Miss Ingram some news that didn't seem to suit her regarding the Rochester fortune." My lies in this web continued to mount, yet my conscience did not suffer for it. On the contrary, I enjoyed myself immensely.

Jane's eyes shifted in my general direction, but her vision went past me, past anything else in the room. I think her thoughts pieced together her newly received information with any looks witnessed by Miss Ingram. She attempted to determine whether there was truth in my words. Never one to indulge in gossip, Jane quickly turned the subject.

"But, Mother, I came to hear my fortune, not Mr. Rochester's, and I've yet to hear anything that applies to my direction."

"Kneel by the fire, dearie." I could not resist adding a small measure of endearment to her lovely ears. She smirked at the phrase, but did as bid. I took advantage of the view to drink in the beauty of her appearance, perfectly content to forget my guests and watch her forever. But finding it necessary to convey some message to her, I continued.

"The eye shines filled with warmth, feeling and humor. It laughs at my nonsensical chatter." Indeed, her eyes sparkled more at the comment. "When it ceases its laughter it is sad, behind it is true loneliness. Look at how it averts me now, trying to ignore my words. The pride flickering behind it only proves my wisdom."

I shifted my gaze to her small lips just longing to be kissed…. "The mouth delights in laughter. How it longs to speak freely without restraint. But it has been muffled by propriety and subjugated by convention. The mouth is favorable." I seek out her most negative feature, the enemy in my designs – her brow.

"The brow is high, a sign of respect. It can live alone if circumstances demand it, desiring not to be swayed by youthful temptations or tempestuous sentiments. Conscience will rule its way, reason cement its steps.

"Well said forehead. I respect and admire your virtue. I would not wish to break the strength possessed or minimize the value of your purity." I stared longer at that brow almost visualizing the inner workings held there. It dared me to speak against it, practically accusing me. For inexplicable reasons I wished to appease it. "I have my plans – noble plans, and I too, appeal to scruples and reason. I would not wish to bring conscious hurt and pain. I recognize integrity for what it is, value it in a person. If more people used it, perhaps this would be a different world. I would never want to be the cause of strife. I want to bring honor – not take it away, to be the source of smiles. Tears would pain me. My harvest would be in sweet-" I suddenly caught myself, realizing Jane stared at me with growing confusion, something of apprehension in her air. My voice had returned to its usual baritone, and I had barely been conscious of it, too busy was I arguing with the stubborn pride held in the inner recesses of her mind.

"I could continue this conversation ad infinitum, but I dare not. I fear I may not have to strength to continue the part." As it was I wanted to kneel by the fire with Jane, kiss her brow, her eyes, her lips, reassure her of my intentions and plans, in short reveal myself entirely to her. But not yet, not yet….

"Rise, Miss Eyre. The play is played out."

She continued to stare, her features revealing panic. She looked away at the fire, turned her head in my direction. Her lips twitched with questions. None followed. Her confusion was simply beautifying.

"Well, Jane, do you know me now?" I resumed my natural tone.

She jumped to her feet, steadying herself by the mantle.

"Mr. Rochester?" she squeaked.

I tried to undo the cloak strings, but the laces caught in a knot. I appealed for her aid. "Jane, come and help me."

She did not, only continued to back away still uncertain. "Break it, sir." She looked poised to flee. I would not allow her to slip away so easily.

"Off ye lendings!" How wonderful to be freed of those female restraints.

Jane's demeanor still had not returned to its usual calm façade. Her cheeks flushed. Her lips trembled. Her eyes darkened. "Now, sir, what a strange idea!" There was more force than shock in her voice. She recovered enough to shake her head

"But well carried out, don't you think?" I smiled at my wily ways hoping she would see the humor in my duplicity.

"No," she countered. "You – you have been trying to draw me out – or in. You have talked nonsense. It is scarcely fair, sir!" Though perplexed and anxious, my fairy was angry at me. What a capricious little sprite! What fun being wedded to such a woman would be. I would tease and vex her to her heart's content – and to mine.

But for the moment, I was all contrition. "You are right, Jane. Do you forgive me?"

The little elf placed one hand on her hip and with the other held her head. She took a few steps away from me. "I – I don't know. I have to think the matter over. If I find that I have not spoken in err, then I might try to forgive you." She turned back in my direction pointing a finger at me in a moment of unbelievable daring and feeling. "It was not right, sir."

I could take that adorable little pointer and kiss it, wondering how far I might push her honest display of emotion. I had never seen her quite so. But I wanted her soothed and not angry with me.

"Oh, you have been very careful, very sensible. Do not fret over that account."

Again she withdrew her gaze, seeming to deliberate with herself for several seconds. She finally sighed and the smallest of smiles crept on her features.

Speaking gently to not shock her too much from her internal musings, I inquired as to what her smile signified.

"Wonder and self congratulation." She lifted her gaze to mine, finally comforted. "Do I have your permission to retire, sir?"

_Oh, no, Jane._ The moment was too precious to allow her to leave so suddenly, not when she appeared so vulnerable with her emotions. She might betray a thought. I gently grasped her forearm to deter her escape. "No. Stay a moment." I feverishly sought a reason to keep her longer. "Tell me what the party in the drawing room does."

She smirked. "I think it safe to venture they discuss the gypsy."

My hand lightly traveled down her arm and grabbed her own. "Sit down...please. Sit and tell me what they've said thus far."

Jane gently tugged back. "I best not stay too long, sir. It is near eleven and I feel fatigued." Oh, Jane, always ready with some prompt pretext for escape. "Sir, are you aware a stranger has arrived?"

"A stranger? No?" Truly, as Jane mentioned, Thornfield was a place of mystery. "I expected no one. Did he leave?"

"No, on the contrary, he claims you both have an intimate connection. He took the liberty of installing himself for the night."

I frowned at the impropriety of the stranger's actions. "Devil he did! Did he gave his name?"

"Yes, sir." She paused a moment recollecting. Her eyes suddenly widened upon remembering. "Mason, from the West Indies – ah!"

I still retained my love's hand as I attempted to lead her to a seat. Upon hearing that name my body convulsed and unwillingly twisted the delicate hand captured in my own.

"Mason – the West Indies! Mason – the West Indies!" Now what? What to do? This was unexpected! This was most unwelcome! I dizzied, staggered, nearly taking Jane with me.

"Sir, do you feel ill?" I heard the panic in her voice as the young girl tried to steady me placing a hand on my chest.

"I have a blow, Jane!"

She moved her body dutifully near mine. Her small warmth helped steady my senses. "Lean on me, sir. Let us find you a seat." She pulled the velvet cushioned divan I had meant to seat her in closer to us. She helped me settle upon it. Still retaining her hand, for at the moment I could not part from her even if I wanted to, I pulled her down next to me. I did not mean to be so rough, realizing I somewhat jostled her, but I needed her with me. I grasped her hand, now trapped between both my own and squeezed it.

"Dear friend, I wish I were alone with you on a deserted island, far away from trouble and hideous recollections."

Such concern displayed itself on Jane's features. Her gaze shifted rapidly with my own. "Sir, what can I do to help you? Tell me. I'd give my life to serve you." Gone now was all anger, replaced with genuine care and affection.

"Thank you, Jane." Her words did bring comfort. "For the moment, a glass of wine will do."

"Yes, sir." She set off immediately to do my bidding.

While gone, I prayed. "Dear Lord, please let her not uncover the truth, not this way. I will tell her, but to find out tonight in this manner-" I breathed a bit willing myself to calm. Panicking would not do.

When she returned, I was more composed. I downed the wine and asked her questions I was certain left her perplexed. She answered my queries regarding censure with sincerity, claiming to stay with me, to comfort me. She would faithfully stand by me as she would any friend.

_Friend…._ All this work….

I smiled weakly at her. "Jane, go find Mason. Tell him quietly that I am ready to see him. Show him in and leave us."

She curtsied and left. I believed myself done with her for the rest of the night.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Commander of Brontdor:** Thank you for commenting. I always wanted to know more of Rochester's thoughts during the novel. This is why I love chapter 27 of the novel so much. It gives the reader her first insight into Rochester's evolving feelings. Glad you enjoyed._

_**Bonbonnett:** This whole self-restraint, but wanting to push ahead is the stuff love is made of. In our hearts we have the most romantic ideas of what we want to happen, but when doused with the reality of life, and not being able to control the other person's thoughts and actions, that's when we see the holding back. Until, we know, it can no longer be helped. Thanks for stopping by! _

_**Rhubarbsmom:** Thank you once more for stopping by and responding. As I told you before, I value your comments and insight. I want so much to be faithful to the heart of this story; its so passionate and compelling in its own right that to write a half-hearted tale would be a almost tragic. Every little bit helps. :)_

_**theredzebra:** Thank you again for commenting. I want to capture that energy between our principal characters to the fullest. But you will see, from time to time, the liberties I take. (Wait 'til the next chapter and some future chapters. You'll really see the story go off on its own.)_

_Thank you all. _

* * *

_Chapter 11: A Cry in the Night_

_ (Jane's POV)_

I gasped when the scream reached my ears disturbing a night's much needed repose. Fitful day I had had, relief and rest continued to elude me.

I concluded Thornfield was possessed by a demonic spirit, and I did not doubt Grace Poole lent her hand in the new devilry. Not only had I heard the cry, but footsteps shuffling from the floor above me.

Had I any doubts a struggle for life and death ensued, the cry: "Rochester! Rochester! For God's sake, come!" confirmed the worse. I had scarcely spoken but a few words with the man, but recognized the desperate plea that hailed from Mr. Mason's lips. Grabbing my shawl, I quitted the room and headed out into the gallery.

It seemed I was in one accord with the rest of Thornfield's guests, for all had milled out into the hallways demanding answers from the master, who for a few moments could not be accounted for. Were it not such a scary moment, I would have smiled to see the ostentatious and fashionable brood dressed in nightgowns and sleeping caps. There was no distinction from servant and master at that point.

Amidst the confusion, Mr. Rochester appeared. His point of entry located at the foot of the third story staircase door, he came ready with easy answers - rehearsed responses, in my opinion. He explained the cries were nothing more than a servant who had a bad dream.

Mr. Rochester smiled, chided, coaxed and entreated. He even took Miss Ingram's hand and charmingly suggested she lead by example, which she was only too happy and proud to do. One by one the master's guests returned to their chambers appeased and satisfied. I proceeded to do the same, but instead of returning to bed, I dressed. I surmised no one else had heard the struggling movements or the other cries that followed. And no one else had caught the master's eye when he gave me a pointed and knowing look. A long night loomed ahead, and I would soon be summoned. My heart swelled with pity for my poor master whose strength seemed tried from all corners.

An hour or so elapsed, and eventual stillness settled. I began to wonder if everything had not been as Mr. Rochester claimed. Perhaps I read too much into his earlier gaze, and it wouldn't have been the first time. I sighed, and proceeded to remove my slippers, when the knock at the door stayed my hand.

"Am I wanted?"

"Are you dressed?" spoke Mr. Rochester's voice.

"Yes." I rushed to the door and opened it quietly and cautiously so as not to disturb the other guests. "Are you all right, sir?" I could not help but question, my heart full at the sight of my master's haggard face. It looked as if he had aged.

"Come – quietly." He began to lead me to the third story when he paused to ask if I had a sponge and smelling salts. I had both and returned to fetch them.

"Do you turn sick at the sight of blood?" was his next question upon rejoining him.

I felt my features twitch then stiffen. Certain was I of the alarmed look crossing my face. "I – I don't know. I have never been tried."

He gazed at me steadily a long minute, deliberating. Finally, he nodded, and grasped my hand. "Warm and steady," he mumbled.

With nothing more than a waning candle, he guided me to the forbidden area of the North Tower. Before unlocking the door, he petitioned me to wait outside. Upon his entering, I shut my eyes tightly for I had heard it. I heard the low _ha-ha_ that belonged to Grace.

He returned much too quickly to my side, now tugging me into the room after him. I was willing to help my master in any way I could, but not if it meant covering up that murderess' tracks. But the sight that greeted me made me forget any stubborn or self-righteous notions conflicting within. Mr. Mason lay on a tattered couch, pale and moaning. He had been bludgeoned. I could see the dark red stain seeping and sticking to his outer garments.

"Sir…." I breathed in horror.

"Now, Jane," Mr. Rochester began officiously, "I am going to leave you here with him to get the doctor. If he feels faint give him water, and use the salts if he is on the brink of unconsciousness. Under no pretext are you to speak to him." I made a motion to protest that final order. How could I _not_ speak to this man who was not only in need of medical attention, but of comfort? Mr. Rochester silenced my thought by pressing my shoulders and abruptly turning to Mason.

"Richard, I dare you, agitate yourself, open your lips, and I will not be able to answer for the consequences."

Mr. Mason only issued a pitiful sigh to the threat, while I watched in wide-eyed mystification.

Mr. Rochester quit the room. I heard the _click_ from the bolt behind and I did all in my power to maintain my composure. He had locked us in the room! I wanted to scream, to cry, to break down the locked door between me and the Fury, but above all, I wanted to know _why_? Why did this happen? And why did Mr. Rochester allow it? He could put an end to all this. If not report her to the magistrate he could dismiss her – quietly if he believed her ill. But how could he permit the burning, the stabbing, the violence? It was too much for my reason to comprehend.

At the other end of that door the low canine groan resumed its warning call. I trembled with fear, then bristled with anger, daring it to enter the room. If Mr. Rochester could not put an end to it, then perhaps with God's aid, I could.

A different moan reached my ears. I sobered at the sound fearing Mr. Mason dying despite my attentions. Forgoing orders I would speak to this man if only to offer comfort. If he died under my watch I could never forgive myself. "Mr. Mason, sir, you will be well. Mr. Rochester will return soon. Do not fear."

"B…Ber…" He seemed to struggle to produce the one word from his lips. I decided to spare him the effort.

"Shh. Do not agitate yourself, sir. Be calm. Save your strength." I gave him more water and swept the hair away from his brow. He stared at me a long time with such a tortured look. I knew I would never forget it. Only my love for Mr. Rochester could make me suffer this trial.

At long last he returned. It seemed I had been locked in this room for days not two hours.

True to his word, Mr. Rochester returned with the surgeon. I gladly relinquished my post, ready to flee from the room if my services were no longer required, but, no. Mr. Rochester sent me fetching and gathering items to and fro, opening doors, and maintaining a steady look out. In between my coming and going I caught snippets of strange conversation. Mr. Mason had recovered sufficiently to speak, and the things he said! He spoke of how gentle _she_ had looked. How completely unawares he was by the attack.

"You should have fought harder! You should not have relinquished!" Mr. Rochester reprimanded.

"I could not strike her." Mr. Mason inhaled sharply, the sound of his voice broken and tear-filled. He then mentioned how _she_ said she would bite the flesh off of him and drain his heart. I had not meant to speak a word; it was not occasioned for me to offer any response, but respond I must have, something in the form of a small whimper and a questioning plea to my master.

"Sir?"

Mr. Rochester gave me one look, starting. I believe he hadn't realized my return from gathering Mason's cloak. Once I had his attention, he practically growled, striking the injured man on the arm, and lifting him off the sofa, despite the man's obvious pain and defeated spirit. It would seem to me not only natural, but gentlemanly and Christian like for the man not to be moved, but allowed to recover in Thornfield. Alas, my master had other plans. Mr. Rochester either ignored the groans or simply did not care, for the speed in which both he and the surgeon, Dr. Carter, whisked Mason outside, one would believe the very devil to be at their backs. As I had no reason or evidence to believe otherwise, my assumption seemed to me as close to the truth as ever.

Mr. Mason was now safely stowed in a carriage sent away to the surgeon's. I was at this time too tired to speculate over the matter. My last recollection of Mason was his bursting into tears supplicating Rochester to "take care of her". That Mason was in on this Grace Poole business was apparent. What power did she possess to have such a strong hold over men of consequence?

A headache began to assault my wits, and I turned back to the house longing for the return of a normal breath. My step was stayed by Mr. Rochester's call. "Jane!"

Despite the harrowing night, I feared meeting my Master's gaze for a new reason: I was certain I was the very picture of the undead – pale, weary and unkempt.

"Come and stay outside with me a little longer. That house is a prison."

With lagging steps I followed, wondering if I erred to be out with him alone so early in the morning. While I mused, he handed me a flower.

"Thank you, sir." I accepted the token shyly, new sensations rousing my sleepy mind. I hesitated to glance in his direction, but glance I must, for he sincerely wanted my attention.

"Were you afraid, Jane?"

"Very, sir," I bluntly admitted. He smiled.

"I had taken care to lock the door. I would have been a careless shepherd had I allowed my l- my lamb so near the wolf's den unattended."

I could not put it off any longer. I spoke my mind. "Sir, I must ask. Will Grace Poole continue to live here?"

Confusion crossed Mr. Rochester's features. "Gra-? Oh – yes. Don't concern yourself over Grace. I assure you, she's a safe hand."

I issued him a stare the likes I've never issued any one before. "A safe…? Sir, forgive me, but it seems your life is in danger." Perhaps I really was a simpleton and had missed something pivotal in the plot. Perhaps the master liked burning beds and assaulted house guests. Perhaps he was not the man I thought him.

"Do not fear for me, Janet. I will take care of myself."

Sarcastic thoughts filled my brain, but I repressed the urge to utter them choosing instead to discuss Grace's latest victim.

Mr. Rochester continued speaking enigmatically about Mason, even eluding that the man had power over him. Uncertain how to answer and riddled with fatigue, I spoke something he found highly amusing. He laughed, crushed my hand to him, and just as quickly tossed it back.

"Come, Jane, sit."

We had neared a rustic seat by an arbor. Mr. Rochester sat himself and patted the space next to him, an invitation that could not be ignored even by someone as simple and dense as myself. I hesitated for a moment to assume that place by his side; he was an engaged man - practically, and I was...the village idiot. He immediately read my confusion and questioned it. _Oh, Jane, come. There can be no harm to sit with him, especially after the confidence he bestowed._ Reason succumbing to loyalty (plus I loved this man so much), I sat.

Mr. Rochester then presented a tale. I recognized it as a glimpse of his life. He spoke of being raised wild and indulged, undisciplined and reckless. He spoke of committing an error so hideous the consequences followed with true fault.

A tortured soul seeks reform, he continued, but sought it in all the wrong ways. In his despair, he returned home and met someone – particulars were secondary at the moment – but in the new acquaintance he found all the things he loved. He discovered better days returning to him; his soul felt free. Did he have the right to overcome customs and impediments to attach the life to his own?

"Sir, I feel myself unequal to answer such a question. I can only say that if anyone has erred let him look to God for healing."

My theologically sound answer did not satisfy. He pressed the issue. "But God ordains the instrument! I have been this reckless sinner, Jane! And I know I have found my cure in-"

I gazed into his eyes and he seemed to dive into mine. I waited for him to complete his thought, but he suddenly checked his impulses.

Without another word he stood and walked to the other side of the arbor. When he returned, he hummed.

Men were a breed I could not quite fully grasp.

"Jane, do you not think Miss Ingram will reform me with a vengeance?" His tone was no longer soft and gentle, but sarcastic.

I lowered my gaze issuing my prompt and calculated response. "Yes, sir."

He stopped before me forcing my to lift my face once more. His expression was one of undeniable tenderness, care, and some regret. "Jane, you look so weary. Do you curse me for this vigil?"

"Curse you? No, sir. Not at all." Never.

Suddenly voices were heard from the stables. Mr. Rochester urged me to go around the back, and I obeyed.

I made my way inside, pausing by a small hidden room away from the servant's parlor. Finding a seat, I meant only to rest my mind for a few minutes, but no sooner did I shut my eyes that I was engulfed by unconsciousness.


	12. Chapter 12

**_AN_**_: This chapter is a complete departure from the novel and nothing more than me giving over to my romantic whims and fancies. Can't help it. You will find more such liberties and interpretations as the novel progresses, though I do try to remain faithful to its general premise. _

**_Bonbonnett: _**_I absolutely loved reading your ideas and musings. Definitely some interesting possibilities there. Correct with the first assumption, as you will now see. :) Thank you for commenting._

**_MissPrez:_**_ Thank you so much for your kind review. This story has been a lot of fun to write and revisit._

_Happy reading._

* * *

_Chapter 12: A Sentimental Discovery_

_(Rochester's POV)_

I breakfasted with my guests hardly any worse for the wear after last night's ordeal. My circle of friends comprised something of a shallow bunch, with the exception of one or two. So long as they partook of fine dining, lively conversation, and frivolous activities, they could care for nothing and no one else. Only Eshton had enough presence of mind to inquire after the fictional servant who experienced the horrific nightmare.

"I hardly know," I answered distractedly, my thoughts consumed by one small governess and my near confession to her this morning. Truly it was becoming something of a struggle to control the feelings I had for that young sprite. Never had I seen such devotion, such faithfulness in any figure, male of female, and never had I seen anyone possess such careful control over her own sentiments. I was ready to woo my love on bended knee, but her heart remained impassive even with all my treachery and tricks. She was not ready yet. It wasn't time. Still, Eshton's inquiry was enough for me to inquire after Jane myself. See how she fared after last night's and this morning's dealing. "But now that you have been so good as to inquire, I will hasten myself over to and see how he fares."

After a few more minutes of ridiculous chatter, I excused myself from the general assembly with my given pretext. I then headed off in search of the servant – of my Jane. I sent word that Adele was to have a holiday explaining that Miss Eyre did not feel well and she was not to be disturbed. I had received word in turn that though the child expressed genuine concern for her dear teacher, Adele looked simply gleeful at the prospect of a day off.

Traversing through the gallery, I barely noticed the servants' curtsies and "good mornings". I neared Jane's chamber when I passed Mrs. Fairfax who appeared to have just exited from the place I made haste to visit. I gave the old lady a brief nod, when she stopped me.

"Sir, I know you have many things to attend to what with your guests and last night's commotion. By the by, who suffered from the nightmare? None of the servants I have spoken to can account for it."

I could not believe how slow Madame Fairfax was at times. Sometimes, I wondered how she had not betrayed the secret I made the entire household keep. At present, I managed to restrain my eye roll, but the impatient sigh escaped me. "Madame, to the point."

"Yes, but of course, sir. I sent a servant to fetch Miss Eyre for breakfast. She is usually so prompt in attending, but this morning she failed to appear. Miss Adele informed me that she is not feeling well, but upon going to her room, I could not find her. She isn't there. I wondered if by chance you had seen her."

I barely registered the rest of Mrs. Fairfax's words. Without a sign of leave I strode away from the housekeeper in search of my beloved. I did not worry so much about Jane's physical state as I did about her emotional one. What if last night's occurrence and my idiotic ravings this morning proved to be the deciding point and she placed it into her stubborn mind to leave the accursed place?

How would I deal with her absence from here – from me?

But would she abandon me so thoroughly without word or warning? That would be very uncharacteristic of her. I'd never grant her a good reference.

Fifteen minutes of inquiries resulted in naught. Terrible musings darkened my mind. "Calm, Fairfax. Remain calm." But I had to hurry and find her. There would be no way to explain to my guests my long absence because I searched for one wayward governess. That would arouse too much suspicion, excite too much attention.

I thought of where last I saw her. I had ordered her to enter the house through the back way. Striding towards that rather secluded, almost forgotten part of Thornfield, I scanned the area. Nothing in the hallways spoke of her having been there.

Finally, I spotted a door ajar. With a quick breath I opened it, my eyes taking in the room and its contents quickly. My heart paused at my discovery.

There, in the farthest corner, practically invisible to a casual onlooker, laid Jane passed out in deep slumber. Her carelessly done bun threatened to loosen from the ribbon barely holding it in place.

Like a man under a spell, I closed the door behind me and walked towards her though barely aware was I of the steps taken.

I had yet to behold my Jane in so vulnerable a state. Lulled in sleep's embrace, I stared at her longingly as if unearthing the most precious of treasures. I marveled at how tiny she was, how young and innocent she appeared, more so than when occupied. I knelt before her, careful not to rouse my gem.

Dear Lord, what would it be like to sleep every night by her side, to wake to such a vision every morning? It would be a blessing unlike any imagined, one I was so wholly unworthy of.

I leaned closer to her taking in her unique scent slightly mixed with cool morning air and wildflowers. Scamp that I was, I reached for the ribbon at the back of her hair, freeing the silken waves, watching in fascination as they tumbled about her face and shoulders. She was exquisite. I dared push back the locks covering her forehead, loving the feel of the soft strands between my fingers. I lifted a few of the locks and brought them to my nose and lips. A great tremor passed through me.

"Jane…." Her name escaped from my lips in a sigh. She remained blissfully unaware of my daring, having no idea of her power over me. I had hinted of her bewitchery earlier that morning, but the words puzzled her. She could not begin to fathom how she mastered me, young darling, so innocent, so unassuming. Without her, I was nothing. My fortune, my consequence, my strength was all meaningless.

She stirred slightly as if she heard or felt my longing. I stiffened and pulled back just so, wondering how ever to explain this moment of tantalization. Luckily, she exhaled another breath and continued in her slumber. So many dreams, so many dreams I have had where I clasped, held and kissed her, and she me in turn. I am loathe to admit, the dreams were hardly innocent in nature, for you see, I was a worldly man, and though I would rather cast out my eye or cut off my hand before sullying her honor, my countless dreams revealed the deepest passions this fairy struck within me.

Would I be so low to steal a kiss from my dearest? I could have done it and she would never have known, but I feared one kiss would not suffice. No, I was certain it would not.

I pressed my finger to my lips and transferred an intimate sentiment from my mouth to hers. Were it not for the commotion the sight would cause, I would have carried my dearest to her room, and laid her on her bed joining her in this peaceful rest. Just she and I; the rest of the world be damned.

Not able to resist, I lowered my lips to her ear, pushed her hair aside and whispered my confession.

"I love you, Jane."

"Hmm," she mumbled in turn. Perhaps I imagined the smile that flickered across her features, there one instant, gone the next. However, there was no denying the breath she uttered afterwards.

"Edward…." The hand pressed closest to her heart shifted and relaxed. The fingers loosened and I caught sight of what she clutched so dearly to: the flower I gave her in the garden.

Heaven. I had arrived at heaven's threshold.

Not able to trust myself any longer I fled the room and found John, allowing him to take credit for Miss Eyre's discovery.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Bonbonnett:** Thank you. So glad you enjoyed. :)_

_**Sue: **Thank you, Sue! I try to update as quickly as I can since the story is pretty much all written out. It only requires re-reading and polishing. Glad you enjoy it._

_**listenwhisper:** So glad you commented. I understand about lurking; I've done it myself from time to time. :) I appreciate your kind and generous review. I love the story so much and sometimes I wonder that going off on other tangents might ruin the tale, but I've read plenty of fanfics where the authors have risen to the occasion beautifully. I'd like to think I can take some liberties and only add a little something more. Again, thanks for dropping a review. Means a lot._

_**Candy:** (What a sweet name! =D ). Thank you, and thank you. Re-reading is the highest form of flattery, I think. _

_**brontefan:** Thank you. I've seen authors try the dual point of view in other stories; I've wanted to try my hand at it. Glad it works, and thanks for commenting._

_Here is the next chapter._

* * *

_Chapter 13: Required Leave_

_(Jane's POV)_

Since my employment at Thornfield, nay, I must go further back. Since my days at Lowood, I believed myself forgotten by the world at large, abandoned and dismissed and thought of no more.

Imagine my surprise when one of the servants informed me I had a visitor waiting in the servants' parlor. I immediately hastened in that direction to satisfy my curiosity.

I entered quietly, diffidently as was my custom, and spied a gentleman. He was dressed in black from head to toe. Though a sullen expression formed his face, he did not appear unkind. It took a moment to recall where I had seen this man before.

"Robert!" I cried, extending my hand to his. I remembered Bessie's husband from my days in Gateshead with Aunt Reed and my cousins. Aunt Reed…the woman I had vowed never to call "Aunt" evermore.

"How do you do, Robert?" I was all animation and ease. He, on the contrary, remained downcast though he managed to give me a small smile.

Ere long I was acquainted with the reason for his visit. Tragedy had befallen the Reeds. John had committed suicide. Georgiana and Eliza were bitter rivals instead of cherished sisters. My forgotten aunt now struck ill by all this had sent for me. "Get me Jane Eyre. Fetch me Jane."

My heart flooded with compassion. True, I had not thought of my aunt years hence, but how could I deny her her dying request?

"I must take leave. I will do so straight away."

Off went I in search of Mr. Rochester. I did not doubt there would be any difficulty procuring leave. He had his guests to look after, and since that ill-fated night with Mr. Mason, my master had evolved into a happy, almost giddy sort of man. He acted as if he knew some special sort of secret, at least when around me. I wondered if he had finally fallen in love with Miss Ingram. Such newfound happiness would not deny me a brief departure from him. After all, it was only a matter of time when I would have to leave him permanently.

During the evenings I was to appear in the drawing room, I observed Mr. Rochester and Miss Ingram (as that had become my customary habit). Watching the two of them engaged, it hardly seemed likely that true affection had grasped hold of either heart. On the contrary, Miss Ingram remained sullen and pouty, much as she had since receiving her news from "the gypsy". Exactly what Mr. Rochester had told her that evening was none of my concern. Mr. Rochester on the other hand – smiles played all over his face, tenderness softened his proud features. He looked as if he had shed ten years. Whenever he and I made eye contact - how to describe it? Sunshine passed through his once gloomy self. I could not make out any of it.

Sometimes, simpleton I had become, I imagined those affectionate glances reserved for me though I had no right to lay claim to them. The morning of Mason's departure, when I had fallen asleep in one of the servant's back rooms, I experienced a brief but vivid dream. I had dreamt Mr. Rochester had professed his love for me, his words delivered in the most heartfelt of whispers.

These thoughts shamed me terribly and made it increasingly difficult to be around my master. As it was, I took great care to avoid being alone with him. Though never would I have believed it, this trip to Gateshead was perhaps the cure needed.

After a few inquiries to the servants, I was told Mr. Rochester was in the billiard room. He and Miss Ingram were at present engaged in a most animated conversation. It took some courage to interrupt so interesting a party, but I could not be dissuaded.

"Mr. Rochester," I spoke softly, but firmly.

Miss Ingram nudged him. "It appears _that person_ wants you."

Mr. Rochester turned to see who "that person" was. His face twisted in one of his enigmatic expressions. I had ceased my attempts trying to understand them – or him. He was not to be my husband. Let Miss Ingram have the trouble of figuring him out.

He strode towards me and led me to a back room where he closed the door and pressed himself against it. I absolutely abhorred the idea of being trapped and his present action gave me such sensation. The feeling had to be from the fateful day Aunt Reed locked me in the Red Room. I hoped my countenance did not reflect my fear.

"Well, Jane?" he asked in the several seconds I gathered my courage.

"If you please, sir, I need a leave of absence for a week or two."

The surprise in his face could not have been more evident if I had demanded a ten-fold increase in wages.

"What to do? Where to go?" he sputtered.

"My aunt is dying. She has sent for me."

"Your _aunt_?" he repeated with incredulity. "You told me you had no relations."

I lowered my gaze as I made the painful admission. "None that would care to own me. Mrs. Reed is my uncle's wife. She cast me off when I was a child."

"Yes, left you to suffer a decade of starvation and isolation while she hadn't a care in the world." I dared lift my countenance. He looked as angry as he sounded.

"The past is best to remain where it is. Now she has too many cares pressing upon her. So much so, she has suffered from shock and is not expected to recover."

Mr. Rochester crossed her arms. "Where does she live?"

"In - shire."

Another incredulous look. "Nonsense, Jane! That's a hundred miles from here! She may be dead upon your arrival. I wouldn't think of having you travel that distance for such an ungrateful woman."

My eyes widened at his callousness. I had been so certain he would not deny me this request, now it seemed he looked for any reason to do just that.

"Begging your pardon, sir, I _will_ go. It is her dying wish and one I cannot ignore." I had not meant to speak forcefully, but my words did come across that way.

The master stared at me a moment seeming to deliberate. "And who goes with you? You don't travel a hundred miles alone, do you?"

"Oh, no, sir. She has sent her coachman."

The smallest glimmer of a sneer set on his lips as if he had expected an answer contrary to the one received. "Can he be trusted?"

If I were given to paranoia I would think Mr. Rochester sought a pretext to deny me leave. "Oh, yes, sir. He has been with the family over ten years."

A sigh that could only be described as an air of resignation followed. "Very well. Your leave is granted, but promise me you will stay only a week."

"I had better not give my word, sir. I might be obliged to break it."

"You _will_ return though? You won't feel yourself obligated to take up permanent residence with the misses or your cousins."

"Oh no!" I gasped at the idea. As if my cousins would be that kind. "I shall return if all be well."

"Hmm. Well, you'll need some money, Jane, and I've not given you any salary. You can't travel without money." He reached into his breast pocket, pausing as a smile lighted his face. "How much do you have, Jane, in all the world?"

There have been times when I have felt myself equal to Mr. Rochester, where rank and fortune made no part in the exchange of ideas or flow of conversation. This was not one of those moments. Trying hard to keep my blush in check I pulled out my woefully slim purse. I checked its contents in a matter of seconds.

"Five shillings, sir."

Pure delight shone in his features. I was glad he found amusement in my poverty. Perhaps I should recount the hardships I passed while at Lowood. He may have found hours of diversion.

"Here, Jane. Take fifty pounds."

I shook my head, his generosity unnerving me. He owed me thirty. He saw my purse. He knew I had no change. I told him as much if by chance I miscounted.

"I don't want change. You know that. Take your wages."

I declined with a stony look.

"Right, right." He put the fifty pound note back in his pocket and fished out ten. "Here."

"That is better, sir, but now you owe me five."

"Come back for it then. I am your banker for forty pounds." He slapped his palms to his sides decidedly irritated, with me I was certain. He spun, ready to leave the room.

_No time like the present_. My impending journey made me bold, and again I spoke a request. "Sir, I have another matter I'd like to address, if you please. It's a matter of business."

He returned, a curious glimmer in his eye. "A matter of business? I'm curious to hear it."

"Yes, well, you see, sir-" my courage quailed, then rallied. "You have as good as informed me of your impending nuptials."

"Aha?"

"Adele will need to be placed in a school." The future Mrs. Rochester would crush the young girl with a glance.

Mr. Rochester seemed to read my unspoken thoughts. "To get her out of my bride's way, who just might walk all over her? There is sense in that. And you – to the devil?"

I suppressed the laugh by averting my gaze. "I hope not, sir. No. I shall find a new situation." Riding on his playfulness, I added, "It should not prove too hard a task having demonstrated myself adept at French, artistry, and piano playing."

Mr. Rochester's gaze glowed with warmth and amusement. Seconds later they burned with anger. At least his changeability remained constant. "Oh, I see. This Mrs. Reed, the Misses, they will help display these talents and assist you in procuring employment?"

I shook my head quickly at his erroneous assumption. "Oh, no. I am not on such intimate footing with my relatives to ask them for such a service." A dry laugh escaped at the idea. "I will advertise."

"Advertise!" He roared. "You will walk up the pyramids of Egypt!" He stormed in my direction with such speed, I backed away startled. With nowhere to go, my body struck a corner wall. "At your peril you advertise! I wish I had given you a sovereign instead of ten whole pounds! Give me back nine, Jane!"

"No."

His face colored. His eyes darkened. "Jane, I've need of it."

"So have I, sir. 'Tis my first payment in a long time. You witnessed the shallow contents of my purse. Certainly nine pounds cannot prove too much a hardship for you." I did not where the mirth and humor flowed from. Mr. Rochester was visibly upset, but there was something so comical in the entire situation. My master behaved as if it mattered to him whether I advertised or not. Of course I would advertise when the time came. That was without question.

"Jane, let me look at the money. I want to count it."

Still in high spirits and reveling in the hand I held, I took the ten pound note and hid it behind my back, pressing myself firmly against the wall.

"Jane…" his voice held warning.

I arched my brow knowing he would _not dare_ take the note by force.

For several seconds he remained silent, but contradicting emotions seemed to flitter across his face: affection and humor, worry and loneliness. I lifted my face upwards, so near to me he stood. Without being aware of my actions, I dropped my hands from behind me. If he truly wanted his money….

"Jane," he began again in the gentlest of tones.

"Yes, sir?"

"Do me this one favor. Do not advertise. I promise to find you a situation in time. Be patient and trust me."

I did trust him. I trusted him with my whole heart. "Yes, sir. I promise." I felt lost again, confused by the energy in the room. This time, I managed to recover and added, "So long as your promise that Adele and I will be out of your way before your bride comes."

He smiled deeply and bowed his head. He, too, suddenly seemed to realize how close to me he stood, and took a step back.

"Will I see you in the drawing room tonight?"

"No, sir. I must prepare for my journey."

"I see. So you and I must bid good-bye now."

"Yes, sir."

A curious glimmer passed his eye, as Mr. Rochester adjusted his cravat. "And how do people carry out the duty? Teach me, Jane. I'm not quite up to it."

Somehow I found that a stretch of the truth. For a man like Mr. Rochester to not know how to take leave appropriately, a man who traveled so much, a favorite amongst the ladies. Unless it was his custom to quit suddenly, which he had proved just a month prior. I wondered how he would divest of his guests.

I realized he awaited a response. "Well, sir, they say farewell or any other form they prefer."

Ever the master, Mr. Rochester issued an order. "Say it then."

I bowed in grand style with a full curtsy and a wide sweep of my skirt. "Farewell, Mr. Rochester, for the present."

He chuckled. "And what must I do?"

"Say the same. If you like."

"Farewell, Miss Eyre, for the present. The notion seems a little trite. I'd like something more to the ritual. Perhaps a handshake." He stared at me a long moment, his gaze searching my face, fixing on a spot that wasn't my eyes. "But that would not satisfy me either." He neared me again. I felt myself pulled by some invisible force and neared him in turn. A millimeter of a shuffle closer to this man…this practically engaged man.

"So you'll do nothing more than say farewell, Jane?"

Was that a fair question? What was he daring me to do? God give me strength, for Mr. Rochester delighted in tempting me. I reverted to being meek and sly once more.

"It is enough, sir," I responded looking away. When I dared return my gaze, I found Mr. Rochester had become the stern master in turn.

"Indeed, but it is blank and cool – farewell."

Yet, he did not move, choosing instead to stare. I grew increasingly uncomfortable under his gaze. Perhaps if I moved first, showed an inclination to end the exchange, he would return to his fair guest.

I moved to the right, making an attempt to exit the room. As I did, I brushed past him, so close were our bodies. His hand reached out to mine, almost as if by reflex. Startled, I stared.

The dinner bell rang, and just as suddenly he released me and bolted out the door.

I stayed behind several minutes thereafter attempting to catch my breath.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Bonbonnett:** Excellent word choice about the dance of sorts Edward and Jane engage in. Couldn't agree more. Thank you for always having a clever insight. Much appreciated._

_**Caitlin: ** So excited I elicited such an enthusiastic response. I feel the same way about getting notification on my favorite stories as well, so I completely understand. Thank you for commenting._

_**Commander of Brontdor:** Thank you! I just remembered the Biblical advice when about the eye or hand causing you to sin, and added that in. I didn't think at the time how Mr. Rochester does lose his eye and hand. Ms. Bronte really knew her Bible. Thank you for the vote of confidence on the PoV change. :)_

_**RhubarbsMom: **You know, my first intro to Jane Eyre was a young teenager. On my first reading, I fell madly and passionately in love with the book, its premise and characters and plot, but so much was lost on me. I didn't fully understand that that one month separation was what motivated Edward to hasten in his proposal. It's true; the month without Jane was his emptiest time (to that point.) Thank you for responding._

_Thank you for reading, and enjoy the next chapter._

* * *

_Chapter 14: Dreary Days_

_(Rochester's POV)_

"Rochester, has something happened?" Eshton asked as we indulged in cigars and brandies. He indulged; for me it was a necessity, the liquor and smoke serving to soothe my jaded nerves. My heart felt cold as I tried to come to grips with Jane's impending departure.

I feared myself an ogre that evening doing nothing more than growling, grumbling, and snarling whenever someone dared engage me in conversation. With Eshton I displayed a little more composure, though to do so was quite the undertaking.

"It's nothing to worry over. Some business affairs. Word I received this afternoon. Should all be settled in a fortnight." I inhaled deeply and puffed out the smoke in one long breath. _It best be settled in a fortnight._ I wouldn't know what to do with myself if Jane stayed longer.

"Good to hear. Sometimes not all our transactions go as smoothly as we would like."

"Indeed," I barely heard him. However, his next words took me from sullen to surprised.

"And now with the governess readying for her travels…. You're going to find yourself hard pressed without her."

"I beg your pardon?" I blinked. Had I made my sentiments so obvious?

"Oh, your ward mentioned it to the ladies as to why her 'bonne', as she calls her nurse, was with her in the drawing room."

I cursed under my breath. Sometimes that brat spoke too much for her own good. Jane understood her better.

"Sprightly gal, your ward's governess. Very intelligent, I might add. We've chatted a few times and her mind is first-rate. You don't find too many young women with that type of intellect or insight."

I stared, the beginnings of jealousy and overprotectiveness brewing in my heart. When had _they_ time to converse? Jane was supposed to be occupied with only thing during those drawing room visits, and that was _me_. It never occurred to me that someone other than myself might uncover the many values hidden beneath Jane's pleasing but quiet exterior. I hoped Eshton did not take too grand a liking to my governess. For the moment I found it a good thing Jane readied to depart.

Eshton seemed oblivious to my vexation, and continued speaking.

"What a nice thing for her if she was to meet someone, settle down, and start a family. Ah, but then you'd be short one excellent governess, eh, Rochester? Sprightly gal, indeed…." He took a puff of his cigar, and exhaled a ring of smoke. I raged imaging what he mused over.

Finding myself asphyxiated by present company and conversation, I excused myself using the pretext I needed to speak to Mrs. Fairfax about an impending business trip. Another lie. I never spoke to Mrs. Fairfax about any of my departures. I left as I saw fit.

Making certain I was unwatched and not followed, I made my way to the gardens. There I felt myself close to Jane, practically inhaling her presence. I thought of all the times I had met with her in those very haunts, talked with her, and at times watched her unbeknownst.

During our conversation earlier, I came so close to laying my plans at her feet. Damn my uncertainty! She thought of me, dreamt of me, and yet…. She would reconcile herself to less to save her honor. She believed me attached to Miss Ingram; that was no one's fault but my own.

She would not reveal her emotions to me of her own accord, and now I stood poised to lose her. What if she should not return? She promised she would, but circumstances could dictate otherwise. Should I find her then, and make her pledge her life to mine?

"Gad," I muttered in disgust. A man almost in his forties and I acted as idiotically as a youth of one and twenty. "Only you, Janet, could render me so useless."

_What a nice thing for her if she was to meet someone, settle down and start a family._

"She will settle down – with _me_. Start a family with _me_!"

There existed no other possible option for either of us.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

Two weeks passed and no word of her return. The party disbanded but days ago. The house returned to its former serenity except….

"Monsieur Rochester! Monsieur Rochester!" Adele's voice rang with animation and pure joy.

What could make her shriek giddily, and to do so to me, I who had been nearly impossible to speak to. Unless…. I jumped from my seat behind the desk, wondering if Jane hurried after her, trying to stop the vain French child from bursting through my doors.

I reached the entrance of my study the same time Adele stormed through.

"Miss Eyre! Miss Eyre!"

"Yes?" I tried to maintain an indifferent tone, but I doubted my countenance looked that way. I gazed behind the child seeking a glimpse of my future wife. Adele captured my attention with a grasp of her hand.

"She wrote me a letter, monsieur. My first letter, what joy!"

I almost told Adele to cease her annoying prattle and to quit the room immediately. The disappointment was so crushing, I could barely stand it.

"Would you like me to read it for you, Monsieur?"

I curled my lip, prepared to banish her to the nursery, but news from Jane was still news, and to hear from her, even if the words were not penned for me would give the illusion that she was near.

"Allow me to read the letter, Adele."

She happily handed the note, standing near as I took a moment to inspect Jane's handwriting. It was just like her, neat, precise and cheery.

"Cherie Adele."

"Ooh, Monsieur. She called me 'dear'. _Ma gouverneure est très_ - "

"Silence, child. Let me read without interruption."

Adele's lips sealed tight.

"I pray you are in the best of spirits when you receive this brief note and are enjoying the balmy days and cool nights God has been so good as to befit us with.

"I'm sure you have far more exciting things to do than to spare a thought for your exacting governess-" Adele's mouth opened as if ready to burst some statement. A mere glance from me caused her to reconsider. "-but I write for two reasons. One: to let you read from my own hand that I am well. As a child I never cared to receive second hand information. Two: to grant you an opportunity to practice your English reading and grammar, which I have a strong inclination to suspect you neglecting."

I could not help but smile at Jane's wit. She was wise beyond her years.

"I wish I could pen fantastical stories of my grand adventures that would grant you hours of diversion, but alas, there is nothing much to report. My cousins are quiet, well, one of them is, but neither have much to say that will interest. My aunt continues to remain in her state of shock. Only God in His wisdom and sovereignty knows when she shall be called home.

"Dearest Adele, do take care, and amidst your fancies find some time to review your diction. I will be slightly put out if you relapse to past tense.

"My best for you, Mademoiselle Varens. Send my love to Sophie, give Mrs. Fairfax a hug, (she has received her own letter) and please do not vex Mr. Rochester. He has enough taxing him as all us adults do. And here is my greatest advice: enjoy your youth, dearest. Age and responsibility come much too quickly!

Yours etc.

Mlle. Eyre"

I yearned to clutch the letter to my heart, to hide it in my breast pocket, but it was not mine. With great reluctance I returned the letter to Adele. There was nothing more to do.

After Adele skipped away merrily to share her letter with Sophie and any other person willing to listen, I meditated on Jane's words. The longer I pondered, the more irritated I grew. She had not given a time table for her return or even spared a greeting for me! She had sent her love to Sophie, Sophie of all people whom she scarcely spoke two words to! (It was unjust of me to say that, as indeed I had witnessed the two prattle away in French with great enthusiasm. Rather, Sophie prattled; Jane responded faithfully.) She could have penned me a letter if only to ask for more money. The only time I was worth mentioning was as a warning to keep from vexing. Little did she realize she vexed me greatest of all.

I stood, determined to find Mrs. Fairfax and see what news was conveyed in her letter. Jane must have had some idea when she was to return.

I recognized the growing desperation that slowly overtook me. I could not live without her, that much was clear. When she returned I would never let her go again, even if I had to defy the wrath of God and law of man to obtain that end.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x

Another week and still no Jane. Angered with her and myself, I whisked off to London to continue with my plans. That malicious elf brought me weeks of grief. Now I would return the favor. This separation anxiety confirmed I would forge ahead with my designs with merciless vengeance. I allowed Mrs. Fairfax the ambiguous details of my trip for no other purpose that she, in turn, would convey them to Jane. My false wedding would go on.

I stayed the entire week in the city meeting with other businessmen. Night proved hardest, especially the hour I had grown accustomed to meeting with Jane. How I loved listening to her voice as she read, or watched her fingers as she played her simple, child-like tunes on the piano. I delighted in teasing her over her song selections, secretly admiring the effortless glide of her fingers over the keys.

When I went to bed, I dreamt only of her. My dreams increased in intensity. As a matter of course, my fantasies were no longer limited to sleeping hours. Sometimes as I stared at the fire, I thought of that morning I happened upon her in the back room fast asleep. Her small body curled in the velvet upholstered seat, a whimsical smile ghosting her face, my name escaping in a breathless whisper from her lips.

"Oh, Jane." My heart ached with love, but my body burned with lust. I was certain her nightly fancies were nothing like mine, but the fact that she did dream of me made my body tremble with need.

I gave way to such thoughts that even in the marriage bed would cause my lily white dove to flush crimson red.


	15. Chapter 15

_**brontefan:** Thank you. I couldn't agree with you more regarding what happened during Jane's absence. I'm sure Mr. Rochester felt torture unlike any known, and it was a just punishment for the pain he inflicted on Jane. Even though we all know where that's headed._

_**girldoctor:** Thank you so much._

_**bonbonnett: **I know! I can't explain what the fascination is with these "bad boys" either. I have a long list of wicked fictional characters I find most intriguing. _

_**Commander of Brontdor:** I agree. Rochester doesn't want to live without Jane, but if she had chosen differently, he wouldn't have stalked her. Look at how willing he was to let her go when she told him about St. John. Though oddly enough, he held on to her more tightly. :)_

_"**great story**" (don't know if there's another handle I could address you by) I wish Bronte would have given us more glimpses of Rochester's developing feelings. That's why any fanfic that I find which reveals that to the reader, I instantly devour.

* * *

_

_Chapter 15: The Return_

_(Jane and Rochester's POV)_

The carriage moved rhythmically through the road speeding me away from Gateshead, returning me to Millcote and then Thornfield. I knew not how to feel about my impending return. I had communicated to Mrs. Fairfax that I would arrive late the following afternoon. What she did not know was that the trunk would arrive in the carriage before I did. I had no desire to be swept in a storm of welcome by the servants, preferring to arrive in as peaceful a manner as possible and slip in through the back door unannounced.

During my time away I tried my best to put him away from my mind, to think of a new life separate from his with fresh prospects. It pained me. So many clouds and darkness hovered over my master's life; I feared so greatly for his future. As advantageous as his marriage would prove and as socially acceptable as it was, I saw nothing but years of indifference and contempt in his conjugal union. However, it was his life and it was not for me to set it in order. I could do nothing more than offer my prayers and plead on his behalf that God's mercy would sustain him.

Such were the thoughts to greet me when I left the inn at Millcote the following morning, making my way on foot back to Thornfield territory. I paused, drinking in the expanse of the rolling hills and luscious greenery of plant life now if full bloom. The afternoon was warm with the sun still high overhead. It reminded me of my days in Lowood when the Typhus broke loose and the girls were left without supervision. The healthy students were encouraged to spend as much time outdoors exercising. The memory of me running around barefoot collecting wildflowers assaulted my mind; it had been so long since I gave over to my own, wild disposition. I slipped off my shawl and undid my bonnet. My body craved for more, to unite with nature. Taking refuge behind a tree, I slipped free from my sandals and slipped off my stockings stuffing each deep into the pockets of my skirt. Ah…. The warm glass soothed my sore feet; the fresh blades tickled my soles. I felt much as a child would, free and unrepressed, and for the moment all troubles were far behind.

For several hundred yards I traveled in this unrestricted manner, but when the towers of Thornfield became visible in the distance, I decided to don the attire of hired hand once more. Imperative was it to assume the role of all that was proper and lady-like. Child like impulsivity had gotten me into trouble more often than not. My veil and self restraint kept my inner wild child governed.

Seeking cover in the shaded area of the trees, I meant to slip the stockings back on and cover my feet. The sight of Mr. Rochester sitting several feet away on a stile froze my step.

Now panicked, I thought of nothing else but retreat. I knew other ways into the mansion, but it did not signify if I knew a hundred ways for he had spotted me, and by the look on his face I gathered he had spied me for some minutes already.

Perhaps this was only a trick of my fancy, my child-like musings still captivating my imagination.

"Hello, Jane," my imaginative figure greeted.

My eyes shut tightly as I chastised myself. All my plans of stealth and advantage were gone. I would have fared better staying in the carriage.

My slippers dangled from one hand, my recently retrieved stockings from the other. I wore my shawl draped around my waist, and my bonnet hung from my forearm. My all-too visible toes began a slow disappearance under the fabric of my skirt.

"H-hello," I sputtered in turn. "I suppose an explanation is due." Heat stung my cheeks.

"Many explanations are due, my – Miss Eyre. I will defer my demands until you have brought some order to your appearance." He spoke grimly, in a reprimanding tone.

Dejected and ashamed I curtsied, gave a "Yes, sir", and hid behind the first tree I found. Five minutes later I emerged, feet sensibly tucked away in socks and shoes, head demurely covered by bonnet. I was the governess once more.

Mr. Rochester took one long hard look at me…and smiled. Then laughed. "Not two seconds returned and already you engage in mischief. Just like you to saunter through the woods in your manner. Well I understand your choosing to return on foot."

I remained silent, relieved at his lightened mood, but still trying to recover mine.

He continued. "Your irrepressible sprit would have caused the horses to go stir crazy and lead the carriage into a ditch."

Despite my embarrassment, I laughed at Mr. Rochester's depiction. "Now, sir, that is scarcely fair. I reserve my tumbling spells only for those with high opinions of themselves." I could not believe my nerve, but perhaps it was my nerves that made me speak so. Besides, had he not noticed my irrepressible spirit? That was a generous compliment in itself. Still riding the wave of humor I added, "And why should you be the only one with the opportunity to dress the gypsy?"

"I had not thought you into games of fancy, Jane. After all, you haven't joined a single one in the drawing room when I've asked."

I could feel the heat of self-consciousness sting my cheeks, but I would not let him dictate my emotions so; I could not afford to give him that power. "My games are a more pleasing sort, sir. They lie in my mind's eye, and do not encumber anyone else. There are no winners and losers, whereas in your games the stakes are high."

"Why would you say that?"

"I have a suspicion, sir, you play to win."

He laughed becomingly at my quirks. I could not help but savor the richness of the tone. Truly, he had a fine voice. How I would miss hearing it. I also marveled at how easily our words flowed; it was as if the interim with his guests had never happened, and we had reverted back to our old camaraderie. I checked my feelings before I became too hopeful. The present moment was simply that, a passing event. These days were short-lived and numbered.

So deep in my own musings I failed to notice the silence between us. When I dared glance up, I saw the smile had fled his lips and he had turned an eager eye on me.

"Truant, Janet! Absent from me a whole month after I had asked you to take but a week, and forgetting me quite, I am sure. What have you been doing with yourself during the time?"

"I have been with my aunt, sir, who is dead."

The master laughed at my rather overly simplistic, but honest to goodness response. A smile tugged at my lips to hear the delighted tones. "She comes back to the land of the living with a reply such as that. Imagine what you would have done with fifty pounds."

"Sojourned through Europe, sir, adding to my list of languages learned to make myself more marketable," I half jested, half spoke in earnest. I had given strong consideration to learning German to keep my prospects open.

Again, he was subdued to silence; had I believed otherwise I would have suspected he did not wish for me to find employment elsewhere. Indeed, that would have been consistent with what he told me prior to my leaving. It was all so confusing.

"Perhaps I might have had the good fortune of running into you while I explored the continent." I eyed him boldly and shyly at the same time.

"How so, Jane?"

"I have heard you've been to London to obtain a new carriage." I swallowed, deciding to save him the trouble of offering explanation, not that I was owed any. "Wedding preparations."

He fixed a quick gaze on me and became agreeable once more. "Yes. You must see the carriage and tell me if it will not suit Mrs. Rochester. Tell me, Jane, being the fairy you are, you wouldn't be able to concoct a pill or potion that would make me a better suited match for my bride?" The query was meant to be a joke, I knew, but something in his tone surrounded the question with anxiety.

I paused my step, taking in his appearance. My gaze somewhat hidden by my bonnet I hoped he did not detect my unspoken thoughts. _You are perfect as you are, Mr. Rochester. All you require is a loving hand and gentle guidance to iron out some of those quirks._

Audibly, I spoke, "That would be past the power of magic."

I was rewarded with a smile that spoke the true sunshine of feeling. A seldom used beam, I was glad he shed it on me.

We entered the garden gates when he lagged behind. "Go Jane. Rest your weary feet in a friend's threshold. And, uh," I turned to look at him, "feel free to walk barefoot if necessary."

I felt something between mortification and amusement at that statement. I continued ahead, then turned once more, glad several feet now separated us, for you see, all my self-possession fled. So happy was I to be at his side I wanted to desperately convey the message, and my mouth ran away with me as if possessed.

"Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. I know I tarried in my return, but I did miss…this place very much. You have displayed your goodness and beneficence to a degree I never expected, and I find myself compelled to admit that wherever you are is my home – my true home."

Disbelieving my audacity, I stared at Mr. Rochester for several seconds, new panic surging through me. I saw my words had managed to render the home's owner speechless and practically catatonic. Taking advantage of his immobile state, I grabbed my skirts and ran past the gates into the house to the safety of company. If he had wanted to overtake me, I doubted he could have.

I made sure to avoid him the rest of the afternoon and evening. I had other reunions to celebrate. Mrs. Fairfax, in her calm and complacent manner, greeted me with true warmth and a gentle embrace. Adele was hog wild to see me, covering me with an abundance of kisses and later showering me with the bouquet she had gathered. Even Sophie and Leah were more than content to see me, the former greeting me with her rapid French, the latter with warm hospitality. Pilot betrayed his master and ran jovially to my side when he discerned my scent in the air.

And Mr. Rochester? Only once did he stop in Mrs. Fairfax's parlor when a harmonious spirit descended upon the female group, and he viewed it all with marked satisfaction...and something else. I barely dared lift my gaze to his to scrutinize the look, pretending to account fatigue to my silence, using my "long day" as an excuse to not sit with him later that evening when he asked me to join him.

Hidden safely in my room that night, changed and ready for bed, I pressed my head against the door wondering if I should scream or laugh. Glancing down at my bare feet, I opted for the latter, imagining how I must have looked to Mr. Rochester as I descended that hill. He truly was kind to me. Any other master would have penned my resignation. Laughter won out.

I laughed so long I thought of Grace Poole and laughed some more. Perhaps I should join her if she gave in to one of her fits that night. What a pair the two of us would have made.

Mr. Rochester had asked if I ever laughed. Were he to hear me now….

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

I ate precious little for dinner. The true of joy of having Jane returned was enough to suppress my vigorous appetite, but her words! That favorable mouth of hers had spoken with abandon. She spoke from her heart. I did not doubt her reason now chastised her lapse of propriety and attempted to set her right, restricting her once more, but she _had_ spoken and I savored the victory. She only required a little more push. I did not doubt her fountain of emotion would then flow freely.

She had already informed me she would not sit with me that evening on the pretext she was tired from her journey. Thus I, too, sought my chambers at an earlier hour, but as I passed hers, I caught the tinkling ring of her laughter. She laughed with great energy and true delight, though I detected an attempt at suppression. Very uncharacteristic of her.

I closed my eyes taking in the silvery sound of her pleasure. What a difference from the sounds made by- Unpleasant thought, I pushed it out of mind, choosing instead to embrace Jane's revelry. A vision entered my mind: I imagined entertaining her under the cover of darkness – under the covers. Her laughter filling the room as I massaged and tickled the dainty feet I had been privileged to catch a glimpse of, thanks to her daring.

Jane was my match in every way, a perfect blend of saintliness and wickedness. Never had I taken so great a pleasure in being bewitched in my life. But I was not bewitched, I had fallen hopelessly, madly, deeply in love.


	16. Chapter 16

_**girldoctor:** Thank you again. That male perspective does make it interesting, doesn't it?_

_**Caitlin:** A squeal from you means I've done something right. :) I figured one chapter was worth at least one dual perspective. _

_**Commander:** You very well may get your wish in the future regarding Rochester's "entertainments" in the foreseeable future. It's interesting to study past culture and see what was right and proper and what wasn't. Thank you for commenting. _

_**Bonbonnett:** Thank you for your lovely words. I'm afraid Rochester and naughtiness are sometimes synonymous. =D_

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_Chapter 16: The Slow Torture_

_(Jane's POV)_

The hour to be summoned to Mr. Rochester's presence grew near. I watched in apprehension as the sun descended past Thornfield's majestic hills. Instead of reveling in the perfect scenery, I chewed on my lower lip, wondering how I could avoid the nightly recontre. The meetings between my master and I, which I once most decidedly enjoyed, I now began to dread. Nightly in my master's presence I felt a slow but certain loss of self control. It began since that evening I arrived and spoke without thinking. The veil I had managed to keep in place for months began to tear.

With his guests gone we relapsed into our customary routine. There used to be much pleasure in reading to my master or listening to his narratives. Now, I begged to have the rituals deferred; my heart not inclined to reading sonnets of love and desire. Were they to discuss separation, fear, and self-loathing I may have taken heart, but no…. Mr. Rochester seemed bent on punishment, forcing me to read irksome lines.

_Love's true love first spoke at night_

_In softest whispers and keenest delight_

I was certain that evening would prove no different. Perhaps if I asked him to teach me to become a more adept piano player…. Bah, he would probably croon love sick tunes; happy was he in his wedding plans.

There was no denying the plans were in form. He had forced me to see the splendid carriage, practically pushed me inside after Adele had clambered in without permission. He spoke of his travel plans with great zest, of second homes, villas in the Mediterranean, and then his conversations turned towards the romantic and fanciful. He spoke of moonlit walks, candlelight dinners. It was plain to see the Master was in love. How or when this miracle transpired was a mystery, so thoroughly convinced was I his impending union one of convenience.

"Jane, do you know what it is like to walk under the balmy sand of the Mediterranean Sea, listening to the melodic rhythm of its tide?" He had recently inquired.

"No sir." I tried to keep the sulk out of my voice.

"Ah, between its timed flow and intoxicating aroma, one cannot help but feel the lure of its seduction. Even a jaded man such as myself becomes something of a romantic surrounded by such a suggestive and luring atmosphere. Imagine being under such scenery with the one you most dearly cherished."

I dared not imagine.

Yet it hardly seemed appropriate he should share this bounty of information with me. To my credit I truly was "no talking fool", and everything he uttered remained in the strictest of confidence, but I did not share his ease nor pleasured at his lax of propriety. Miss Ingram's abode was scarcely five miles beyond the hill. For such an enthusiastic rider as Mr. Rochester the journey would prove effortless. His deep love would think the trip a trifle.

And yet he did not go. He never went. It was maddening. Instead of Mr. Rochester spurring away to his fairest, the insufferable man spent his evenings speaking to _me_. True, I listened much better than I was certain Blanche Ingram ever did or would, but there was something amiss. The entire nature of the engagement seemed...not quite right.

"Ah, Jane," Mr. Rochester rose when he spotted me at the entrance of his library while I debated entering. "Come. I have a task for you."

I smiled tightly wondering what infernal book he had in mind for this evening. My thoughts as of late had grown morose. I was certain the expressions reflected off my countenance. Only Mr. Rochester, who used to read my sentiments with uncanny ability, seemed blissfully unaware.

"I discovered these writings earlier today amidst searching for a vocation for us this evening. I know how much you delight in reading sonnets-" My gaze fell fast and hard on him. Was that suppressed glee in his tone? "And I found this old work. Read it and oblige me with your thoughts."

He handed me a worn slip of paper. I handled it with great care not wishing to damage the fragile stationary. The creases on the faded parchment made some of the wording a bit of a challenge to decipher. With his permission I moved closer to the fire, taking a low seat nearby, a spot Adele had been known to assume when called to appear before Mr. Rochester.

"Well, Jane, can you make it out?" My Master asked with impatience.

"I will try my best, sir." Holding the paper to the light I began my careful read.

_Weary and cold I have been_

_Denied nature's loving warmth_

_Haunted by sorrows of past errs_

_By shame, grief and storms_

_Forsaken, forgotten and abandoned_

_I followed due course throughout_

_Angered and spiteful, cursed and belittled_

_Redemption a long afterthought_

_I gave solace to flesh, lusted and pined_

_Transgressions at every turn_

_Forgiveness evaded, sorrow pervaded_

_Regret the food of my scorn_

_Were a new path to abound_

_That hope, peace and love could sojourn_

_I would follow faithfully through_

_To yield my carnality to the Higher_

_I hear the response in my heart_

_And well do I know the answer,_

_"The greatest of these is love"_

I recognized Biblical scripture intermingled with unique verse. This was an original work. These were his words written in a moment of utmost despondency. He shared it now because he no longer felt this way. As he tried to tell me that morning in the garden, he had found his cure. God bless him; he had been made whole.

Lifting my gaze from the paper, I saw Mr. Rochester leaning forward in his seat, devouring me with his stare. If only I could divine his thoughts.

"Well, Jane?"

I pressed my lips together and shook my head. What honest emotion was poured into those lines! My heart was too full. I could not speak even if I wanted to. It was not my place to share my sentiments. Words were not the proper response to such revelations, caresses were, and _that_ I had no right to administer.

"The shake of the head is good, but I need words. Out with it!"

Without realizing, I glared in his direction. Did he not see the indelicacy of his request? Tired and somewhat vexed I rose, returning the papers to him with less delicacy than when I had grasped them. He wanted an honest answer, I would oblige.

"You should ask your bride to read this…sir. Her opinion is surely of more importance than mine on the subject."

He grabbed the paper with his left hand, encircled my wrist with his right. It was as improper a move as I had ever witnessed. "But, Jane, you are my friend – a true friend. You know me in a manner quite distinctly from Miss Ingram. Truthfully, she does not listen half as well as you." His eyes sparkled with some sort of mischief and secret delight.

"Sir! You should not speak so." I sputtered shocked, twisting my arm in an attempt to free his hold on it. I knew I had thought the same thing only moments ago, but it was not right for him to audibly express that, or to grasp me in the manner he presently did. "Are you drunk?"

The master roared with laughter, releasing me so suddenly I stumbled back a bit. He quickly rose as if to reach out and steady me, but I evaded his hand, seeking refuge in the most remote corner of the room. From time to time Mr. Rochester had been known to tease me, laugh at me a little, and look at me in certain ways that... But this – this did not feel right. Trouble brewed in the room that evening. I wanted no part of it.

Had they argued? What did I care? It mattered not. But if they had had a disagreement….

No, no! It was still not right!

Mr. Rochester pursued. "Now, Jane, why would you think such an ill thing of me?"

"You're in a rare mood, sir," I stated distrustfully, realizing the exit was quite in the opposite direction. "Rarer than usual," I could not help but add.

"Most governesses would not speak so frankly to their employers." There was a dangerous tone to his voice indescribable to me.

"I agree with you there, sir. Say the word, and I'll be on my way." I placed a chair between us. Again, my eyes traveled to the door. He noticed.

"Do you wish to leave, Jane? Is my strange mood frightening?"

Loathe in admitting he did indeed scare me at present, I simply responded that I would much rather go to bed.

He moved the chair separating us and graciously stepped to one side. Apparently his fun at my expense had been satisfied for the evening. I curtsied stiffly and moved past him. With alacrity he grabbed my hand, forcing me to turn to him.

Before I could prepare an impatient retort, he lifted my hand and brought it to his lips.

"Sir," was the only thing I could weakly mumble. The sensation of his lips against the back of my hand embarrassed and thrilled me. He must have felt the tremor passing through my frame.

"Good night, Miss Eyre." His pleasure was perfectly evident as he bowed.

I stormed from the door without casting a second glance behind me. The man had become insufferable! How could he play such an ill game? I felt abominably used, and I would stand it no longer. I made a firm decision to begin advertising the next day.


	17. Chapter 17

**_AN: _**_ Yes, two updates in one day, readers. Forgive the haste. __I was tickled pink with the reviews received for the last chapter, and realized that this author may have taken a few more liberties than were consistent with our dear couple, particularly, EFR. In an attempt to redeem his less-than-chivalrous behavior to poor Jane, I have decided to post the "day after" scene, which will lead us to "the proposal". I appreciate all the words, all the insights, and your faithful readership. You make writing so much more exciting. Thank you **listenwhisper, bonbonnett, Commander, PersianPianist, **and** girldoctor**, for taking a moment to share your thoughts. After this update, I will relax for several days. Enjoy! _

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_Chapter 17: Jane Speaks_

_(Rochester's POV)_

She avoided me the entirety of the day. No blame to her. I do believe I behaved nothing less than the scoundrel the evening prior, and thus I recognized not only the necessity, but the urgency of an explanation was due. But try as I might, I could not quite pin her. In the morning I walked into the school room, giving both teacher and pupil a most cordial, "Good morning". Before I could add that I needed a moment of her time, Jane stood, curtsied, and walked out claiming she needed to retrieve a forgotten book, but she took Adele with her and never returned.

I found her again just before tea time, writing. It looked like a letter. Knowing as I did her circle of acquaintances limited to the inhabitants of Thornfield, I meant to inquire. Her action had excited enough suspicion, her reaction revealed her intent. She slammed a book over the paper, the ink still wet. I asked if her writing would not be ruined. With scarlet cheeks, she said, "No, sir," and curtsied once more, rushing to Mrs. Fairfax's parlor.

I tried again, this time believing she would not be so cold in the presence of the older woman. I thought wrong. No sooner did I enter the room after the ladies had shared their tea and were engaged in harmonious work, that she stood, claiming she felt a sudden headache.

"Oh, my," tsked Mrs. Fairfax in pity. "I hope you did not strain your eyes reading by that poorly lit fire."

"No, it is well." She cast a dubious glance at me. Her look sorrowful and confused. "It is well. I just need a moment. Excuse me." She left by the second door – the one farthest from me.

"Miss Eyre is not feeling well," Mrs. Fairfax offered by way of explanation as if I had not witnessed the entire scene. I did my best to hide my mischievous smile, liking this new side of Jane I had yet to see. She was beyond composure, fighting for control. I had to end her misery, beg for her forgiveness. I had overplayed my hand, and the time for revelation hastened.

"Adele mentioned they were to go berry picking for an hour, but I think she should defer the activity." Mrs. Fairfax's voice reclaimed my attention.

"Nonsense. Miss Eyre needs the exercise. I'm certain the fresh air will do her good." I saw the opportunity in the engagement. Adele would tire early, and I would summon Jane to my presence as I normally did, except there would be no need for her to rush off with Adele already asleep. Jane would protest – no doubt about that. She would in all probability flat-out refuse the meeting altogether. I would insist; perhaps a bit of a heated exchange might ensue. She would be angry. What bliss, what passion, what energy would be present at our rendezvous!

"Are you quite well, sir?" I turned my gaze to find the old woman inspecting me keenly. I'd forgotten her still in the room.

"Quite so. Never better. If anyone needs me, I am in my study," and I marched away before she diagnosed me with plague.

The sun finally began to wane. Adele and Jane had returned from their afternoon excursions, I knew. As predicted, the exercise had indeed worn out the young girl who went to bed with the sun without protest.

I dined alone in my study, had the leftovers removed, and opened my casement window a hand-breath while I enjoyed a smoke. Everything outside spoke of purity and serenity. The birds beckoned evening tide with sweet carols. Their song inspired a moment's meditation; but it also gave me time to reflect upon the act I planned.

"God give me strength. I cannot go back now." I continued in my reflections, intermittently glancing at the hour, until the sound of shoe treading gently over gravel broke my reverie. I moved stealthily closer to the window, watching from its opened slit. My Jane wandered aimlessly through the walkway, perhaps hoping to lose herself in the depths of the grounds, praying to avoid another recontre with me. Quiet as I was, I forgot I smoked my cigar. The recognizable scent of spices seemed to arrest her attention for she looked about suddenly and spotted the open window. With a sigh and shake of the head, she betook herself to the orchard to seek refuge.

Hmmm. An evening stroll in the gardens seemed just the thing. I closed the window and quitted the library.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

The gardens made up an extensive part of my property. Incomparable to the vast landscape of Queen Marie Antoinette's breathtaking terrain at the Palace of Versailles, my humble fields could entertain my Janet for hours.

However, my goal that evening was not to study perennials or check on the progress of the cherry trees. In the quiet of that evening I was on the hunt for my future mate, to bring forth the revelation of the blossoming sentiments that had long borne the fruit of love.

I did not wish to come upon her suddenly, to have her feel trapped or cornered. I had learned enough in my observations of her to know how much she abhorred the sensation. I merely wanted to find her by "chance", and from there push her to the edge of her emotion. She knew me to frequent the gardens, and without the prospect of her coming into the house for more reading, this was the next viable option.

Feeling her very near, just beyond the shrubbery a few yards hence, I betook myself to meditate upon a moth that had coincidentally alighted near my boot.

My back turned to her I was the picture of total engrossment. Ah, but she did not know that while only one sense was engaged, I still had others on the alert. I heard her soft step skulking away, sensed her anticipation at fleeing, and longed to bring her close to my side.

"Jane, come and watch this fellow."

I spun to let her know she was caught, the look on her face priceless. Were our love already clear and explained to one another, I would do nothing more than pull her in my embrace, kiss and laugh at her.

Dutiful girl she was, she came, looked, smiled, nodded and began a quiet retreat.

I could and would not allow it.

"Turn back. It seems a shame to waste such a lovely night reading indoors." The joke was not without its effect. She colored and claimed she had no interest to read. "Perfect," I countered. "You do not wish to go to bed just yet. Not when sunset meets moonshine."

Her gaze lifted heavenward as if supplicating the Almighty for strength. She stayed. In my heart I thanked her for it.

We walked a while in silence though it was one that could hardly be considered peaceful. I could tell Jane was uncomfortable. My behavior the evening prior had broken the implicit trust she reserved for me, hence my need for declaration. But before speaking plainly what I had hid for months, I also needed to come clear with my falsehoods. The task would not prove easy. I had already received small tastes of her ire, and I wanted to see more. A greater knave than I could not exist at that moment.

"Jane, I fear last night I behaved wrongly towards you."

She sighed once more, but it seemed to be in appreciation. Yesterday's interaction foremost on her mind, she nodded quickly keeping her gaze downcast. "It was not fair, sir, and not something I expected of you."

"Well, before I give you the particulars of any...sentiments I displayed, I've to put a few questions before you. I know when all is explained you will understand." We had walked under the horse chestnut tree in the middle of the garden. Looking up I decided it the perfect spot. Trying to find just the right words, I realized I was at a complete loss. And instead, I came up with a secondary tactic.

"Jane, Thornfield is a pleasant place in the summer, is it not?"

"Yes, sir," she mumbled, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"And you've grown attached to it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Even with Adele and simple Dame Fairfax?"

"Yes," a small smile came with the response.

"It is a pity. That's the way of things. No sooner do you become settled in one way that the order is given to start a new."

She stared at me a long moment, she had scarcely looked up before, realization dawning upon her. Her breathing became labored. Her mouth opened and closed with unspoken words. With a swallow she seemed to call upon her inner strength.

"I am to leave Thornfield?" she inquired.

"Yes, Jane." What a look of steel crossed her features!

She nodded. "I am ready. In truth, I attempted several advertisements today." For several seconds I did nothing more than take in her strength...or her foolish resolve. Was self sacrifice something to be valued or mocked? "I think you made it clear to me that the time has arrived. I shall make inquiries-"

"Nonsense, Jane," I interrupted, attempting to speak airily and nonchalantly. "My future mother-in-law mentioned a place that may suit you." As if I ever were to take advice from that woman. "What do you think of Ireland?"

"_Ireland!_" she cried, her vigor collapsing and she, practically, in turn with it. Her step staggered.

I pretended not to notice. "You'll like Ireland, I think. They're warm-hearted people, Jane."

"Ireland…." She repeated, this time in a whisper.

I am a cad, a curd, a rake. My beloved was on the verge of apoplexy and I relished it.

"It is a long way off…." She seemed to have recovered from the shock and entered a low state. Her gaze downcast; she clutched at her shawl.

"No matter. You're a sensible gal. The voyage will prove exciting for you."

"The voyage is not the problem. I'm sure I would like the experience, but the distance, and the sea. I never imagined...so far... It is such a barrier."

"A barrier from what?"

"From England." She rushed in her speech. "From Thornfield, and-" she halted her words, lifting her gaze to mine. There was a panicked fire alighted within them.

"And?" I innocently encroached. _Say it, Jane. Say it._

"From _you_, sir." She shut her eyes as she said the words, looking as if she desperately wanted them returned to her.

Delight. Great delight to hear. Her armor had cracked. Nay, it crumbled. Tears began to stain her cheeks. Masochist I was, I wanted more. I wanted to hear her profess her undying love for me.

"It is a long way off," she repeated once more. Her pallor returned and she appeared on the verge of swooning. I could not have her faint at that moment, not when she was so close…. I sat her down and settled myself near.

"Let us speak of the trip, Jane. Lord knows we shall never be able to meet this way again afterwards." It was difficult to gaze at her visible suffering. I kept my glance straight ahead though my tone softened considerably. I began to speak from my heart.

"Jane, sometimes I have a queer feeling regarding you. It is as though you and I are connected with a chord wrapped about our hearts. When separated those chords will snap. I am afraid I will take to bleeding internally and you – you will forget me. I have long-"

"That I _never_ should!" The girl's voice trembled woefully with her interruption, and she began to sob loudly. She now gave free reign to her feelings, her vehemence a glorious sight to behold. "I wish I'd never been born! I wish I'd never come to Thornfield!"

"You are sorry to leave Thornfield?"

"I love Thornfield. I have not been trampled on. I have thrived and blossomed under its care. I have talked face to face with what I love-" I shuddered at her honest declaration "-and reverence. I have met with a bright and expanded mind. I have met with _you_, Mr. Rochester, and I am anguished to know I must be separated from you. I see the necessity of departure, I understand it, but it is like looking upon death!"

"Where do you see the necessity?" I began to lose my hold on the game. After such stirring words, who wouldn't? Now I only sought to console.

"Where?" she choked. "You have placed it before me!"

"How so? In what shape?"

"In the shape of Miss Ingram!" She stared at me as if I'd gone mad. Truthfully, I felt I retained a flimsy hold of reality. "A beautiful and noble woman. Your bride!"

"What bride? I have no bride!" I no longer knew what I said. Her passion was contagious.

"But you will!"

"Yes. Oh, yes, I will."

"Then I must go! You have said it yourself!"

"No you will stay! I swear it and the oath shall be kept!"

Such contradictions proved too much for her fragile sentiments. She pulled to her feet with fast energy, roused with incredible fire. "I must go! Do you this is some sort of game, that I can stay and become nothing to you? Do you think I have no feelings, that I am soulless and heartless? You're wrong! I have as much soul as you and as much heart!" She beat that part of her chest where our deepest sentiments are said to be stowed. "If God had given me some beauty and much wealth I would make it as impossible for you to leave me as it is for me to leave you! There have been times that I thought we connected, that perhaps given the right set of circumstances..." I nearly fell off the bench from the force of her words, the joy I felt overwhelming. Scarcely did I realize she still spoke. She ran an absent-minded hand over her hair. "It does not signify. It no longer signifies. I have spoken my mind and now I must depart, but know this, Mr. Rochester, I speak to you as if we have crossed the medium of this existence and stood before God as equals – as we are."

I could no longer pretend indifference or stupidity. Her words shook me, filled me, made me recognize how much a part of each we already were. "As we are!" I cried in turn, striding to her, reaching and crushing her to me, sealing my lips as I have yearned to do for months now. "So Jane. Everything that you have said does signify." I mumbled happily as I took my first taste of her.

How I dreamt of this moment! I expected her to melt perfectly into my form, to grasp my face with equal enthusiasm and press her bosom to mine. To forgive me all my devilry, my plotting, my planning, and rejoice in our understanding. In short, I expected a romantically perfect ending.

Nothing with Jane ever went as expected.

She began to struggle with surprising strength, turning this way and that, seeking to escape from my hold as if my touch burned.

"Not so, sir! You are a married man!"

"What?" I stiffened, disbelieving my ears.

"Or as good as married at any rate. She is inferior to you in every way, and yet you would marry her. You don't love her. I don't even think you _like_ her. Just yesterday you ridiculed your betrothed. In that sense, I am better than you, for were I to choose, love would be my reason, affection my guide!" She pulled harder, while I listened torn between amusement and shock. "For God's sake, let me go! Is this what you want me to stay for? Allow me to save you the trouble and inform you now that I will not be a part of this!"

"Jane, stop struggling like some wild bird." I attempted to gather her to me, but found myself having much difficulty just maintaining my grasp on this wisp, wild woman. My words only served to incense her.

"I am no bird! I am a free and independent being with a will of her own exercising her right to leave you!"

I released her, worried if I didn't she would not calm and settle herself. Upon doing so, she wiped the salt drops streaming down her cheeks, and turned to flee. She would have been successful had I not stepped directly in her path.

"Do you mind?" she asked her tone as ice. "The game has gone on far enough, do you not think?"

I grabbed her hand. "You are a free woman, and you will now decide your destiny." I bowed on one knee. "I offer you my hand, my heart, and a share of my possessions."

Pulling her hand away, she stared at me, a sneer of disgust framing her face. "Ha! You play a farce which I laugh at! I never believed you capable of such paltry decep-"

I leapt to my feet and silenced her with an angry kiss. I had had enough of her doubts. Shocked was I when she wrenched her arm free and attempted a swipe. I have experienced my fair share of strikes from women, but this was unexpected. Luckily, I moved with enough alacrity to stop her.

"Jane, come to my side. Let us explain and understand one another."

She grounded her teeth. "I will _never_ come to your side. Do you hear me? Never will I come willingly. I am torn from you."

"No, Jane, no!" I panicked at her ill misrepresentation of me. This was worse than being accused of drunkenness. But who had I to blame other than myself for her ill assumptions? "I summon you as my _wife_. You are the only woman I _ever_ intended to marry."

Suddenly she stilled and stared, no doubt taking in the sincerity of my words. She stared so long I thought her in shock.

"My bride is here," I whispered – albeit a bit savagely, "because my equal is here and my likeness. Jane, will you marry me?"

The question roused her to fire once more. Her eyes narrowed and she pushed against my chest. "How dare you mock me!"

"Jane – Jane!" I snatched her back, roughly this time, her comfort now secondary. "Do you doubt me, Jane?"

"Entirely!"

"You have no faith in me!" My voice rose.

"Not a _whit_!" she yelled in turn.

This was indeed a very sad attempt at a proposal. In my heart, I knew I deserved this unexpected outcome in my plans, but I did try to pass the burden on to her.

"Little skeptic, you shall be convinced!" I roared and shook her a bit. "I do not love Miss Ingram. I lied! I made it all up so I could have you! You, small, plain, poor and obscure as you are, I love you with my whole heart! But you are so guarded! So discreet! How was I know how you felt? Jane, you are unlike any woman I have ever met! You are a most unearthly creature sent here to be my second half, my better self! Now that I ask you to be my wife you reject me! You were born to be my tormentor!"

"What – me?" she sputtered, disbelieving still and yet…. Perhaps it was my incivility. Perhaps I had jostled reason into her brain. I felt the beginnings of renewed hope.

"Yes, Jane, you. I want you as my own. Relieve me of my suffering and consent to be my wife. Say yes, quickly." So thin was my control, I feared hurting her if she said no.

She searched my countenance for what seemed an eternity. "Do you really love me?" she asked in a whisper.

"Yes, Jane. I swear on my life."

She blinked rapidly, and I felt a violent tremor pass through her.

"Say my name. Say, 'Edward, I will marry you.'" My desperation for her love spurred me to frame her declaration for her.

"Sir – I – I accept."

"Edward, my little wife!"

"Dear Edward!"

"Come to me entirely now. Make my happiness. I will make yours."

Whatever she wished to say was drowned out by my multitude of kisses. I covered her lips, face and neck with my caresses. Just as I long suspected, one kiss was not enough, and my little dove, long innocent with her sleepy sentiments became something of a tigress, her own kisses matching mine with intensifying passion.


	18. Chapter 18

**_AN:_**_ I'm sorry for reposting. The first version had "visual deficiencies" that drove me nuts and I just couldn't ignore. Now, I'm more content. :)_

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_**Commander:** Thank you. *bows*_

_**listenwhisper:** What a sweet thing for you to say! It's amazing how we invest so much of our emotions into stories. I am humbled that you share a connection with this retelling. I mean, we all know the outcome, but I'm just like you, I simply can't get enough._

_**brontefan:** Thank you for the fist pump. I couldn't believe I updated myself. I just had to get that chapter out of the way. Thanks for reading._

_**bonbonnett:** Well said. I often wonder what would have happened had the heavens not opened and unleashed the flurry of the storm. Hmm... A writer might want to undertake that one. The Proposal scene with no Summer Storm._

_**girldoctor:** Thank you! I was able to take some of the weekend to relax and am now updating before the work week. Enjoy!_

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_Chapter 18: The Morning After _

_(Jane's POV)_

I awoke after a feverishly blissful night; no one could blame me for my emotional exhaustion.

I had just opened my eyes to close them once more. What a difference a few hours made. Just twelve hours prior I had been on the verge of dismissal, or rather transfer, torn away from my beloved Thornfield. Half an hour from that time, I had rebelled, fought against Fate, rallied against convention and pronounced myself his equal and his love. Fifteen minutes following that, my poor master yelled at me, both demanding and supplicating me to accept what I believed his false proposal. Ashamed, I now admit I thought he wanted to entrap me in some sort of sexual tryst. Had I known what fortune waited, I would have spoken my feelings sooner, and used less jarring language.

Not that my dear Edward – I blushed but thrilled to think of him that way – was without blame. He deserved the strong remonstrance received, and though my mind was now at peace, I would remind him of his bad behavior, not solely toward myself, but to Miss Ingram as well. Spoilt child she was, I did not see the harm in a little disappointment, but heart wrenching pain I did not wish upon her.

I nestled my head against the pillows tracing a finger to my lips, cheek, chin, neck…. There wasn't an inch of my exposed features Mr. Rochester had not kissed, stroked, or caressed. A deep burn blazed my skin and a breath stifled as I remembered.

He came to my room thrice to make sure I was safe. A sudden summer storm had hastened us inside just when Edward and I believed we could spend the hours rejoicing in our promise. The tempest, though quick-moving, was powerful with harsh downpours and strong winds. The lightning struck fiercely, while the thunder clapped so loudly one felt it at its core.

When I met him at my chamber's door to assure him I was indeed quite safe and calm, he begged to enter if only for a few minutes. I was in such high spirits I allowed him the liberty – for it was most certainly that – and received a shower of physical affection that made me delirious with want. Never had I experienced such exquisite bliss. It was overpowering, terrifying even, but thankfully we both exercised control and restraint. I will not lie and say it was easy to see him go; I read in his countenance his great desire to do just the opposite, but our love was pure, and to taint it with premature actions would only spoil one of the greatest gifts discovered in the marriage bed. Well, discovery for me. My master was certainly the expert.

I blushed recalling the way he made me feel, but my cheeks burned when I remembered the look Mrs. Fairfax gave me as she spotted my soaked person walking past her at midnight, a smile plastered on my face. Eight years of Lowood discipline and I still behaved like the foolish love-sick child. No matter. I would soon have Edward – Mr. Rochester speak to her, and then I would follow suit. Her worries would soon be cleared away.

My gaze turned to my writing desk. My face felt feverish when I recalled what had happened there on Edward's second visit to my door.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x

"Where are you going? We have lessons," I reminded Adele as I spotted her leaving the school room.

"Mr. Rochester has sent me to the nursery. He told me there will be no more studies." I made a face at the announcement. Mr. Rochester could not seriously believe Adele would not study during the month of courtship, nor could he expect me to rest on my laurels while he lavished attention and God knew what else on me.

"I suppose today is a holiday. Where is Mr. Rochester?"

"In there." She pointed towards the apartment she had just quitted. As I walked past her she added, "Mademoiselle, be careful."

"How so, Adele?"

She beckoned me to bend forward so she could reach my ear. "He is in a funny mood, humming and smiling and cheery."

I could not withhold my laugh at her descriptions, though her expression was one of utmost concern. "Do not worry, Adele. I am on my guard." I scooted her away and smoothed my dress. With a small breath, I entered the room.

Mr. Rochester waited by the table Adele and I utilized during our lessons. Grasping a paperweight from the desk, he clutched it absentmindedly, his thoughts elsewhere. His features were forlorn and serious; I thought I could detect sadness in his lineaments. I wondered what he thought of, and felt reluctance at interrupting his current train of thought. What I would do to assuage the pain from his past.

At long last he lifted his gaze. Color and light brightened the darkened visage and chased dark thought away. It was almost as if the previous look never existed. He smiled lovingly; I did the same.

"Come and bid me good morning," was his greeting, and I rushed to his open arms. It only seemed natural that I should fill his hold, tiny as I was.

He kissed me several times; once never seemed to satisfy him. "Jane, look at you. You are the standard of beauty."

"Sir-" I felt the sting at my cheeks. Love had made him delusional.

"Edward," he interrupted in turn.

"I cannot call you 'Edward' in front of everyone."

After speaking those words he pulled back a bit, making a great show of scanning the room. "I did not know the tables and chairs had transformed into 'everyone'."

I laughed easily. "I only meant-"

"Last night, and well will I never forget, you gleamed in the moonlight and declared yourself my equal. In the light of day, reality returns. What was viewed with blind passion must give way to calm complacency. Jane-" His voice lowered as he pulled me to him once more, "I am infinitely grateful for your rebellious spirit. By the by, you are aware it was you who made the offer."

I offered him something of a knowing smile. "Yes, sir, but only because you are so good at deception." He leaned in for another kiss, which I avoided by turning my face. "What were you thinking by your behavior towards poor Miss Ingram?"

"'Poor Miss Ingram?'" he repeated with incredulity. "My generous angel, you do her great honor with your compassionate words. I told you she feels nothing for me. Her greatest esteem is for the depth of my pockets."

Maintaining a perfectly solemn countenance I responded, "It is still a sentiment and one I am certain she holds very sincerely."

"Wicked changeling-"

"And since you are, after all, the very model of honest virtue and pious propriety, I can see why you went to great lengths to impart morality upon her."

He leaned his forehead to mine. "Jane, I didn't feign love with Miss Ingram to shame her conduct or teach her a lesson. I did it – and I hesitate to admit this having seen the firestorm you are – I did it to make you jealous. I'd say it worked. Do try not to strike me again."

Strike him I did, a light punch on his shoulder while I shook my head at his pathetic purpose. "Excellent, and now you are not one whit bigger than my tiny finger." I pulled up my left pinky and waggled it. He grabbed the small member and kissed it. Before I could withdraw my hand, he gave the upraised finger a playful nibble.

"Sir!" I admonished more loudly than I meant. "You are going to have to cease these…games. They will only yield dangerous results." I shifted uncomfortably in his arms, acting as if the inanimate objects did take a life of their own and judged my actions. I loved Edward more than I could say, but his past regrets had not visited upon him because he had exercised proper judgment and decorum – all the contrary, I was sure. Well could I begin to comprehend Mrs. Fairfax's concern on my behalf.

He gave me a smile that was the picture of devilry. "My principles were never trained, and I suspect they have grown awry for want of attention. Remember what I told you, Jane, about being raised indulged and wild."

My heart softened at the admission I knew to be true. "Sir," I ignored his groan, "tell me that Miss Ingram did not suffer even in the slightest at the result of your…experiment."

"That she does not. No one loves me as you do, Jane. The knowledge is both humbling and overpowering."

A sudden wave of emotion made me grasp and kiss his hand. The impulse resulted in a stare from my betrothed who recovered and wrenched me to him.

The remaining objects on the desk clattered noisily to the floor.


	19. Chapter 19

_**brontefan:** Thank you for your true enthusiasm. I'm more than glad you enjoy the updates._

_**bonbonnett:** LOL. Rochester needs to try to take things easy, but as you see in this chapter, things just get tougher for the ol' chap._

_**Chevelle:** Too sweet of you to say. You're most welcome. There is something pleasurable in giving pleasure. :)_

_**girldoctor:** Thank you!_

_**Commander:** LOL. I'm trying to add those little details that add to the reader's enjoyment. Later, we'll talk about a future chapter that may have **too** much detail, but that's later on. )_

_**Alice:** Thank you! I wonder what dear Bronte would think if she got her hands on these fanfictions. The emotions would be quite the variety, I'm sure._

_Enjoy the next installment._

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Chapter 19: The Thorny Rose_

_(Rochester's POV)_

It neared twilight, that hour bewitching to all lovers. Long have I been lovesick, many months repressing what nature intended me to do, love my little Jane. I was determined to lavish the fullness of my attention on her; her nervousness would not preclude me.

A hot-blooded creature lay within her demure exterior. I had firsthand evidence of Jane's passion, but I knew she still startled easily, especially when it came to anything intimate between man and woman. I needed to bear in mind she was still an innocent young girl. I would have the rest of our lives to school her in the deeper familiarity shared between sexes. Now I only meant to give her glimpses as to what the future promised for us.

"Good evening, Mr. Rochester." Jane's voice awakened me from my thoughts. I smiled at seeing her, bidding her near me, my lips tingling in anticipation with the kisses I wished to shower on her. She walked in as she always did, diffidently, quietly. She was but a yard from my arms when she turned a quick right and installed herself by the piano.

"What are you doing?" I knew she did not sing, and her playing left one wanting.

"Sir-" maddening stubborn thing, calling me "sir" at the hour of romance "-I entreat you most kindly to give me a song. I'm in need of practice."

"Capricious witch. I'd much rather sing another time." Giving her a long and pointed look, I sat myself down upon the sofa and patted my knee, hoping she would accept the invitation.

"No time like the present," was her response, completely dismissing my request.

Despite her insult, a smile tugged my lips. Rising, I walked over to her and whispered in her ear, "Do you like my voice?"

I expected some sly comment in turn, but instead she stared at me, her hazel eyes slightly rounded as she responded, "Yes, sir. Very much."

Who could resist such honest flattery? I seated myself on the piano bench sidling my body as close to hers as she would allow and asked her to accompany me.

"I will try, sir." However, no sooner did she play several chords that my ears burned. Her level of musicality would not do, not for the song I wished to sing.

Since Jane had just claimed to like my voice "very much", my performance took on a role of utmost importance. I usurped her place at the piano pushing her off the stool with a sweep of my arm. My ungentlemanly behavior resulted in a small cry of surprise escaping her lips; laughter shortly followed. Casting her a quick glance, the smile on her face told me she took no offense; rather, she appeared infinitely pleased.

I poured all my heart and feeling into my song choice, knowing whom I sang it to and for. When finished, I turned wishing to find her standing at my side. I had to crane my neck to catch a glimpse of her, she practically hidden by the window recess. Hers was the look of one enchanted. Ha. My song had done its work, now it was time for me to do mine. Without hesitation I stood and strode in her direction, never taking my eyes off her. She gripped the cushions of the window seat, bracing herself for my ardor.

_Yes, Jane. I hope you are prepared. There is no escaping my love._

Leaning into her, I eagerly sought her lips, watching as she wetted them for me.

_Allow me to take care of that for you._ So help me, as much as I loved her purity, she brought to life the carnal man.

"Who are you going to marry now, sir?" she asked quietly when I was but a quarter of an inch away from delivering my kiss.

I pulled back only just. "What a strange question asked by my darling." I returned and recommenced my tender romances.

"Indeed, sir. You said your future wife will die with you. I have no intention of dying."

"You misunderstand me. All I want is your love in life." I nuzzled my nose against her cheek. "Death is not meant for one such as you."

"Oh, I will die, sir. Everyone dies. I just won't be hurried to a suttee because you deem it so."

I sighed, desire deflating a bit. Still, I tried. "Dear, Jane, you are right. Would you forgive me with a reconciling kiss?" _One that might hush you._

"No, sir," came her infuriating response. "I'd much rather be excused."

Now I completely pulled away bewildered and exasperated. "You hard little thing! Any other woman would have melted at those sultry tones."

Looking immensely proud of herself, she crossed her ankles and clasped her hands. "I am not any other woman. I am hard, naturally so, flinty even. It is good for you to learn all the exasperating elements to my character. It may serve to make you change your mind."

"Change my-!" I ran a hand over my face, bothered to no end. Perhaps I should send her to her room. "Will you be quiet and talk sensibly?"

"I will keep quiet if you like, sir, but as for talking sensibly, I flatter myself, I do so now."

Turning to face her again, I narrowed my eyes. She played some feminine game, one I was wholly unfamiliar with. Unfortunately for me, all the ladies I have had the pleasure of "knowing" were not youthful sprites – and they certainly had not been innocent. Jane did this on purpose! She meant to keep me an arm's length away. Damn Mrs. Fairfax! I knew she had spoken to Jane in the morning and said words that troubled my gem. That old woman's interference was most unwelcome.

Annoyed, I stomped to a chair on the other side of the room hoping she would follow and apologize – and perhaps a little something more.

Instead, she stood, walked over to the side door and said, "I wish you good-night, sir." Not "Edward", not "my love" – she didn't even give me a peck on my cheek. Upon closing the door I heard her muffled laughter as she walked away.

Releasing a deep sigh, I returned to the window watching the stars twinkle perfectly in their set place. We had wasted a perfect sunset and she had single handedly ruined an evening of romance. I meant her no harm. I only wanted to prepare her in part for what we would experience in fullness following our marriage. At that moment, I sneered at virginal purity.

Wicked, wicked girl. I imagined her still sitting in the corner seat, smiling at me.

"You have your fun now," I argued with the illusory figure. "In a month's time it will be my turn, and my vengeance will be something awful, I assure you."

I mediated if it would be wrong to give her a small spank.


	20. Chapter 20

_**bonbonnett:** Ah, yes. Hindsight is 20-20. He would have behaved very differently if he knew all the things awaiting him at that time. Thank you for your always fun commentary. _

_**lw:** A real pleasure to have exchanged some thoughts with you. I will tell you now, that Chapter 27 is not done in EFR's POV, but it is quite a long chapter. It exhausts me just reading it, LOL. I think it was Toby Stephens, if I'm not mistaken, how long-winded Rochester's was while he prepped for the character. But we'll talk about that more later. Recommend the new movie to all JE fans, just don't expect it to be a true portrayal of the novel._

_**girldoctor:** I hear you. If I had been in Jane's shoes would I have been as strong? I'll never know._

_**trz:** Thank you! I think it is important to remember how frustrated Rochester truly was. Men just get that way more often than not. Bronte knew men well._

_**AliceK:** Thank you so much for commenting and enjoying the story. I understand why Jane did what she did. But a part of me felt like, "Come on, girl, lighten up a little." However, had I had had a daughter, I probably would have advised her as Mrs. Fairfax did. Society was very, very different then. _

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_Chapter 20: The Ghost Incarnate_

_(Jane's POV)_

The whipping rain soaked me quite thoroughly, my dress hanging to my frame as if second skin. Anyone who witnessed my walk up the hill would think me raving mad. I could only imagine the talk amongst the servants.

"Nervous, jittery bride. Probably thinks the groom deserted her."

But that was not the case. I feared for Mr. Rochester's safety. Something had happened last night. I had seen something…someone.

"Jane!" Mr. Rochester's voice rang amidst the howling wind. He rode Mesrour; Pilot bounded faithfully at his side. It reminded me of when first I beheld my master. Glad was I no unexpected stumbles occurred.

"Edward!" So happy was I to see him I cared not a whit about my water logged appearance, the boasting, and eager kisses that followed as my future husband gathered me in his arms. The kisses abounded plenty, indicators of the repressed passion Edward had undergone in the last four weeks, but after the tenth or such loving act he stopped himself.

"Is there anything the matter that you've braved the elements to meet me at such an hour?" Concern crossed his features…or was it fear?

"Nothing is the matter now. I am neither afraid nor unhappy."

"Then you have been both?"

"Truthfully, yes. I will tell you about it in just a moment, but I dare say you will laugh at me when you hear it."

"I'll laugh at you tomorrow, after we are wedded and away from this place. This last month, I could not lay a finger anywhere without being pricked, and now I have you nestled in my arms." A smile lighted his features. "You can't do without me. Admit it."

I sighed, but returned his smile. "I did want you, but don't boast. I acknowledge that tomorrow I will have to pay for all the ills I've put you through. Until then, grant me a few hours reprieve."

We arrived to the front gates and I dismounted, hastening inside. At the foot of the stairs Mr. Rochester told me he would give me but five minutes to change and rejoin him in the dining room. I turned to make good on my word when he grabbed me by the elbow and stole another kiss, this one pushing boundaries. Relieved as I was to see him whole and well, I allowed him the liberty. I dare admit, I even reciprocated. His lips sealed around my own, nibbling and tasting. My knees shuddered and I feared to succumb to his passionate display. He pulled back and I observed him as he suddenly took in the whole of my appearance. I dripped with rain, the garments clung to my small form, my hair, slick with water, had collapsed from its habitual confines. My master seemed to approve of my disarray. His face flushed, and his breath quickened.

"Go, Jane. Change." He spoke in a voice not quite his own.

I tripped away upstairs, but I felt the heat of his gaze still over me.

Glad was I to free myself from the sopping garments. I changed in record speed, returning to Mr. Rochester before the allotted time.

"Come, Jane, join me for dinner. This will be the last meal in a long time you will eat at Thornfield." I shuddered at his words. I felt so comfortable in this home – despite what happened the night prior; the new life awaiting me seemed a strange mystery, one I tried not to imagine 'til I could no longer help it, I supposed.

"I will join you, but I cannot eat. I am not hungry."

"You are over-anxious. Those sentiments are natural of a bride."

"I fear you will find me a hypochondriac, but sir, I hope you will listen without prejudice."

"I promise, Janet. Tell me; are you afraid I shall not prove a good husband?"

My gaze softened at his question. Though his tone was light and neutral, I detected a hint of hurt.

"No, sir." I caught the customary formality of my address and tried again. "No, Edward, no. I think it a glorious thing to have the hope of living with you, because I love you." Upon issuing the honest declaration I found myself enveloped in Edward's embrace, his arms clasping tightly around me, his face nearing mine. I had thwarted his affection for four weeks, and now was not the time to indulge in passion. As it was, I could tell the nearness of our union lessened his self-control. Surely he could stave off his fire another day.

To purposely cool his rapidly rising ardor I reverted to formality. "No, sir. Don't caress me now. Let me speak undisturbed." Thankfully, he listened and allowed me to retreat from his hold.

I spoke of the dreams – nightmares, rather, I had had the night prior. I described Thornfield ablaze, left in ruins, of Mr. Rochester leaving me without a word. I stood on the opposite end of the mansion's gates, locked out and locked away.

"Ah, Jane, you _are_ nervous. Pay no attention to those fleeting visions."

"Sir, fain would I not, but after awakening from the second, I believe I had a third."

"Believe?" Edward fixed a strange gaze upon me.

"Yes, sir. Whilst in that state of dream and wake I caught the glow of light dancing before my eyes. I thought it daylight, but the light moved about. It was then that I realized the flickering was produced by the glow of a candle. I thought Sophie had entered. I called out to her when I saw her, and even louder when she inspected the wedding dress and veil. Now feeling myself more awake I sat up and discovered it was not Sophie, not Leah. It was not even that strange woman, Grace Poole!"

Mr. Rochester shook his head; his countenance told me I had his full attention. "It must have been one of them."

"No, sir, I beg your pardon. I have never seen this individual before, and now that I have, I will never forget it." Without meaning to I shuddered.

Mr. Rochester held out a hand as if to reassure me. "Describe the person to me, Jane." His voice was soft and gentle, but laced with urgency.

"A tall woman, large, with thick dark hair. She knelt by my bedside and fixed a fierce glare upon me. Her face was discolored, her lips swollen, her eyes bloodshot. She reminded me of some demon set loose from the nether regions. Scarcely could I draw breath, let alone scream."

"Did she – did this apparition mean to hurt you?" Mr. Rochester's gaze bordered on alarm, worry could be read in his lineaments.

"What her intentions were remains a mystery. I fainted after beholding the…woman, and upon awakening could discern no sign of her existence."

"Who was with you when you awoke?"

"No one, sir. I was alone. As I readied myself for the day I determined I would tell no one but you of what I witnessed." I drew a breath of air fighting the frustration from escaping. "Edward," I again tried to appeal to his more genial senses, appealing to him as head of our future household. "Tell me who or what that woman was."

My soon-to-be husband took some time in answering as if sorting the mystery in his brain. He gulped first, then spoke. "Jane, she was a figment of your imagination, an over-stimulation of your brain."

I shook my head vigorously, disappointed with his answer. I had hoped Edward could vanquish my fears; offer a palpable explanation, told me he knew of a mental asylum patient just escaped. Part of me wondered if the person lived…here. The laugh, the fire, the bitings – that seemed characteristic of this ghastly vision. Edward seemed eager to believe otherwise. There was not even an attempt to make inquiries, a promise of an investigation. The more I thought it over the more certain I became of this woman's corporeality.

"No, sir. The thing _was_ real," I insisted with a hard edge in my voice.

"And what of your dreams?" he quickly countered. "Is Thornfield a ruined hall? Am I going to leave you without a word or kiss?"

"Not yet," I grumbled, impatience making me sarcastic.

He smiled. Edward thought my lack of manners charming. "I am not, and will never leave you. Ever. Once we are united and bonded to one another there will be no more of these mental terrors."

"Mental terrors, sir!" I repeated incredulously. "I only wish they were, seeing that you can give me no answers!"

"And since I cannot, it must have been unreal."

What faulty logic in that explanation! I closed my eyes, reluctant to share the next information. How would he receive the news? Too late for withholding, I rushed forward.

"But, sir, when I arose this morning I discovered the veil ripped from top to bottom on the carpet floor!"

Ere last I made a believer of my master. He started at the news and hastily threw his arms around me, straining me close to him, practically suffocating me. After several minutes, he gently pulled away and smiled.

"This was all Grace Poole's doing. You admittedly told me you were between sleep and wake. Following on the heels of your nightmares, you imagined her ghastly visage. The tearing of the veil was done in spite – quite characteristic of her. Look at what she did to me, to Mason."

"But, sir-" I began.

"I see you would ask why I keep such a woman in my house." I snapped my mouth shut, awaiting the answer. "When we have been married a year and a day I will tell you, but not now. Not now." I bit my lower lip to contain my cry at the evasive response. "Are you satisfied?"

Not in the least. But I was relieved, and being so near he who I loved and reverenced best brought a certain measure of peace, enough so I managed a sincere smile.

"No more somber thoughts, Jane." He drew the curtain. "It is a lovely night. Do not dream of separation and sorrow, for tomorrow awaits our union and declaration of love."

He embraced me tenderly, affectionately bidding me to have the sweetest of dreams. I told him I would try, kissed him before leaving, and said my good night.

The sound of his mournful sigh did not escape me as I shut the door; in turn, I shut my eyes.


	21. Chapter 21

_**bonbonnett:** I loved those cherry blossom trees. I did notice them. Alas, they really were in a rush in that movie. Rochester proposing in the springtime instead of the summer. ) Lovely shots though._

_**girldoctor:** That is an angle I'm going to have to try to pen. Here's the blurb. "What if Mr. Rochester had told Jane the truth from the beginning? Would she stay with him, struggling to maintain a platonic relationship as she waits for Mrs. Rochester to 'kick the bucket'?" What do you think? :)_

_Happy reading._

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_Chapter 21: Mrs. Rochester_

_(Rochester's POV)_

My feverish pace at the foot of the stairs prompted many a curious stare from the servants. Wedding jitters were normally reserved for the bride, and I was no innocent school boy poised on the verge of manhood.

I loved Jane so wholly, more than any words could ever express. This day should have been filled only with exuberance and ecstasy. _She_ stole that from me, damn wench of a woman who had tricked me; her family and my own kin in on the conspiracy, for conspiracy it was. Well, now it was I who sought to turn the tables on the blow Fate dealt me.

Yet my conscience – God's guiding Spirit - spoke to me as never before. How could I in turn trick Jane so cruelly? How could I ask her to partake in my ruin? If the truth were ever discovered I would be a ruined man and Jane….

_*For there is nothing hid, which shall not be manifested; neither is anything kept secret, but that it should come abroad._

I was not given to reading and memorizing Biblical scripture verbatim, but how the words from that Holy Book seemed to come to life as I waited for Jane to emerge.

"But that will not happen. That will never happen. Jane and I will overcome. God _will_ bless our union," I soliloquized through clenched teeth.

"Edward, I am ready," a soothing voice called from the top of the stairs. "Do not curse me under your breath just yet. There will be years enough for you to be angry with me." My gaze lifted, and before me stood a vision.

In the few months I had been so honored to know and love Jane she had brought me to the highest peaks of emotion. That moment was no exception.

I had only ever seen my Janet in her simple frocks of black, grey, and one occasion a pale yellow. Before me stood a celestial being dressed in clandestine white; her aura of purity and her essence of joy nearly moved me to tears.

"Jane," I paused for the right words, fearing none would do justice, "you look as fair as a lily. You are not only the pride of my life, but the desire of my eyes." She lowered her gaze, her lashes fanning becomingly against the smooth ivory of her cheeks. Soon I would have the time to gaze and worship her as she deserved, but for now speed was of the utmost importance.

"You have ten minutes to eat breakfast." I pulled her behind me into the dining room. While I supposed her breakfasting, I finalized plans and set things in order. Once I felt satisfied all was secure I returned to claim my prize and clasped her steadfastly to me.

As we walked to the church, I determined to arrive as quickly as possible. With hurried step I dragged Janet behind me until she stumbled. Upon turning I realized she was quite out of breath.

"Am I cruel in my love? Delay an instant."

My little elf did not complain. Instead she smiled and looked up at me. I ceased my resolute air and smiled in turn, her gentle spirit calming me if only for a moment. I watched as she rested upon me and examined the day.

After five minutes she declared herself ready. I continued to speedily walk us toward the church where we met the minister and the officiant.

Only the four of us, we began in the formalities of the ceremony. Throughout the opening remarks I remained impassive, staring straight ahead. My conscience cried out to me. _Blasphemy, Edward! You blaspheme God's work!_ I could not turn to face Janet. I knew from time to time she peeked a glance in my direction. What thoughts must she have!

"I require and charge you both, that if either of you know any impediment why ye may not lawfully be joined in matrimony, ye do now confess it."

_Now is your chance! Confess! Reveal! Marriage is built upon honesty. When she discovers-_

Ignoring my inner man, I said nothing. I remained mute. I would have her – damn the consequences! Her one month departure from me was unbearable, nearly my undoing. I could not imagine life without her. Somehow, I managed to silence my spirit.

But another voice, an audible one to all recipients spoke aloud jarring the ceremony to a terrifying halt. God saw I would not act. He sent a messenger to do His will.

"The marriage cannot continue, I declare the existence of an impediment."

_Not possible. Not possible! Remain calm, Rochester. Perhaps it is not what you fear._

Ah, but it was. A Mr. Briggs had arrived, declared me wed, and produced not only a marriage certificate, but my own brother-in-law, Richard Mason.

How I _hated_ that man.

I had evaded Jane's gaze while the accusations circled, refused it when the marriage license had been produced. Now she made me look at her.

Shrinking coward I was I took out my ire on Mason. Perhaps I could frighten him enough to contradict his statements. But despite my thunder and ferocious glares, and at the insistence of that damn lawyer, Mason held fast and declared me a married man. He went on to add my wife was still alive and living in the house but three months prior.

I heard the minister and officiant gasp. No one knew I was married; I had taken great pains to conceal the shameful fact. No one suspected. Least of all….

It was all I could do but to leap on Mason and strangle him. Both Briggs and the clergy had to pry me away. They were successful in their endeavors, but only when I came to my senses, realizing I behaved no better than the would-be murderess locked away in her dungeon.

I had to admit defeat. Finally, I willed myself to look at my angel. Her face was stone cold. I grasped her hand to quit the church and return to Thornfield. I wanted to introduce her to _my wife_. Her entire form stiffened. As easy as it had been to lead her to the church, I now had to pull her out from it.

We re-entered Thornfield; my servants waited ready to offer their heartfelt congratulations. A charade and slap in the face if ever I saw and felt one.

"To the right all of you! Your wishes are fifteen years too late!"

I drowned out the gasps and steeled myself against the frightened looks from my subordinates. I needed to remain resolute for the task I was about to undertake.

We climbed to the North Tower, past the stairs, towards the darkened room in the remotest corner of that haunt.

"You remember this room, Mason," I could not help but spit at the tremulous man. "This was where she bit and stabbed you." I could feel a tremor pass through Jane as she stared at the couch where she had kept vigil over the injured man. She had been so close to discovering my secret. I had been so exacting in my orders threatening Mason with silence.

It was all for naught.

Dark thoughts ran through my mind. Wouldn't it have been better for all of us had he bled to death?

Still maintaining my grasp on my shocked would-be bride, I unlocked the door separating the living from the livid. I bid them all to enter, except for Jane whom I pulled in after me. She had yet to speak a word.

"Morning, Grace."

"Morning, sir. I don't know if so many people should be present." She eyed the crowd warily, especially Jane. "She's a bit snappish."

"We should leave," Mason quivered.

"Go to hell," was my rejoinder. I cast him a disgusted glance. Jane had more strength than that spineless bastard. She certainly exerted it now.

"Beware," Grace warned again. "Sir, I think it best for all to leave. Especially the young miss. I don't think Mrs. Rochester would like seeing _her_ here."

At the term, "Mrs. Rochester," I heard Jane inhale sharply. I knew what she thought. She should have been "Mrs. Rochester" at this time. This other woman was nothing more than a mockery of my life. Both Jane and I stared at what I hated most.

_My wife_, Bertha Mason Rochester, stood from her crouched position as if she suddenly realized she had a room full of visitors. Her lips curled menacingly and she glared at me a long moment.

"Let us go. Please, Rochester," Mason begged, as if I were in the mood to give consequence to any of _his_ pleas.

"In due course. Show some courage," I sneered, sarcasm dripping from every word. I contemptuously repeated the words Briggs had told him when attempting to get Mason to speak at the church.

Bertha's bloodshot eyes shifted. Her countenance altered to one of pure hatred. I had seen the look many times before. However, this time her anger was not directed to me.

She saw Jane.

Recognized Jane.

_Hated_ Jane.

A few seconds were all I had as she charged towards my love. I flung Jane behind my back serving as shield between she and the Fury, for Bertha meant to rip her to shreds. I struggled to bring the wild animal to submission while Grace ushered out the rest of the occupants from the room. Upon subduing Bertha we restrained her with ropes. The lunatic bellowed, growled, and finally whimpered.

I emerged from the room certain I was a sight to behold. My left cheek stung, no doubt from where Bertha's teeth had made contact. She had tugged at my cravat so fiercely it had torn. But more than the physical blow was the emotional one I experienced.

I stared in Jane's direction. She stared back, eyes unwavering. Her look reminded me of a stranger's, gazing upon someone unknown for the first time. It was empty, devoid of recognition and feeling. She then lowered her head, turned on her heel, and marched away from all present.

I had lost Jane forever.

_***Mark 4:22**_


	22. Chapter 22

**(Reposted to include reference material.)**

_**girldoctor:** It's an interesting idea, even if out-of-character for Jane. Thank you for reading the depressing chapters._

_**Anonymous:** Thank you for reading and responding. That is definitely one of the "worst days ever" to have been recorded in the history of histories of literary canon. _

_Had Rochester told her the truth from the beginning, the story would have been an entirely different one. What if he had told everyone, and it was common knowledge? That is was a well known fact that Rochester had a crazy wife, and he still needed a governess? Jane accepts the job, and everything is platonic, proper, and correct. Until Rochester and Jane do fall in love because they are soul mates, and then Jane does leave, even before Rochester find out she loves him, because her feelings frighten her and it's just wrong to be emotionally attached to a married man, but then he finds out, somehow... and then...she meets her cousins. St. John advises against it, because he really is in love with Jane after getting over Rosamond... I'm looking at this from a completely different angle and think I better quite while I'm ahead._

_That said, Jane **did** come back to "check on" Edward, even before she knew Bertha had died. Her timing happened to be just right, because of divine intervention. _

_Thanks again, for your insightful feedback._

_**listenwhisper:** Thank you for your comments. As you can see, I am seriously considering the venture. It would have to be a summer task. :)_

_Enjoy the next chapter. As well as you can._

_PS. Much has been made/said about the "I'll try violence" line from Mr. Rochester. Would he have physically hurt her, or raped her? I am of the camp that believes he strongly considered the idea in the desperation of the moment. It has been said that the term "wild license" which is from the book: **His voice was hoarse; his look that of a man who is just about to burst an insufferable bond and plunge headlong into wild license. I saw that in another moment, and with one impetus of frenzy more, I should be able to do nothing with him, **is a roundabout way of stating rape. One in danger of uncontrollable actions. To read more on this here is someone's academic interpretation, http:/ academic. brooklyn. cuny. edu/ english/ melani/ cs6/ jane302. html . I, too, explored this idea._

* * *

_Chapter 22: Torn Away_

_(Jane's POV)_

"Away with you all. I must shut up my prize!" I believed these Mr. Rochester's final words to me. With his secret discovered, he would cast me out, turn me away. I held no other purpose in his designs.

Once in my room I proceeded to undress, remove the cloak of bride which I had no right to wear and back into my habitual garments. I stared at myself a long moment in the mirror; an altered creature stared back.

What had happened? I was still Jane Eyre. That was her countenance, those were her limbs, and yet something was notably different.

The hopeful girl of yesterday with bright prospects and a promising future was gone. Now – what was she? What was I? Not a woman – not really – but I was the greatest fool that ever lived.

Mr. Rochester had not loved me. He never had. I admit, the length and extent of his deception was remarkable, but he had never wanted me for his wife.

I knew what I had to do, flee. Flee from his presence. Tear myself away. Look to God for solace and strength. Live a life without love.

I did not display any fit of passion or rage or anger, but the ache in my heart hurt more than any pain experienced.

After hours of solitude spent grieving and pondering over my uncertain future, I decided to emerge from the room for no other reason than I thirsted. No one had come to visit, to console, or inquire after me. I believed myself deserted.

But upon opening my door I discovered the reason for that supposed desertion. Mr. Rochester had stationed himself at my door, sitting on one of the wooden armchair's from the gallery as he waited. His body stiffened at the sight of me, and at once he leapt from the seat.

A part of me thought it graciousness itself that he allowed me some time unmolested. Still, I did not know how to feel seeing him so soon, and the consuming ache prevailed.

"At last you emerge. I have sat out here waiting and listening. I feared for you, Janet. Five more minutes of that death-like hush and I would have forced the lock like a burglar."

He reached for me, attempted to pull me into his embrace. Weak as I was, I managed to deny him the caress. A pitiful "Don't" escaped from my lips.

"So you shun me? You would rather grieve alone? I know you are passionate. I anticipated your tears, but I wanted them shed on my breast. If you cried out, I wanted to receive the brunt of the force." He studied me a moment, and I did what I could to avert his gaze. "But I am mistaken. You have done neither." A moment's deliberation and he strained me to him against my obvious discomfort.

"Oh, Jane, Jane! If anyone ever rued their mistake, I do mine! I never meant to wound you thus. Will you ever forgive me?"

I closed my eyes at the repentant words and sorrow of his voice. Of course I forgave him all. My lip trembled violently. I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around him, to kiss him and offer him comfort – but I could not. All affection was forbidden.

A sensible answer seemed the best to give. Extracting myself, I told him I was tired and hungry.

Again he gathered me in his arms and carried me downstairs to the library. This time I did not protest. Placing me in a seat, his preferred seat, he handed me some wine. I hesitated only a moment never having had the drink before, but I needed some nourishment. I drank the wine. It was pungent, heavy, but it did the trick. I felt myself steady and my mind strengthen.

"Taste the wine again," he ordered.

I did; forgetting myself a moment I gave him a long glance, watching him above the rim of the glass. I feared my love could be read through my gaze.

He stared, pulled the goblet from me fingers, and rushed to my side, feeling and emotion evident. He leaned his head to my shoulder. I shrugged it off. He came to kiss me. I turned my face away.

"Jane, you no longer love me? Now that you've discovered me a wedded man you decide I have no value? It was only my rank you wanted?"

If he wanted a reaction from me, he chose his words well. I gasped at the accusation and grieved that he should even entertain the notion. Without thought, I placed my hand to his face and caressed it. His head leaned into my offered palm. "I do love you, more than ever, but it is the last time I can say it."

I meant to pull my hand back, but he held it in his grasp. "No, Jane. It will not be the last time. I will not allow it. We can still wed, just in our own manner. I promise I will keep to no one other than you. A marriage is as good as the vows uttered."

"You have uttered them before-"

"She is _not my wife_, Jane. It is _you_ I love, _you_ I live for. We _can_ and _will_ make this work." An ominous tone blended with his words. After all that had happened, he still dared to defy his Maker.

My poor master had become delusional speaking of things he could not have – we could not have. I determined to harden myself to him for his sake. As he spoke, I refuted all his plans, froze my gaze, staring at nothing else but the fire. The act broken me from within.

"Jane, will you hear reason!" Mr. Rochester suddenly yelled, trying, I assumed, to break my resistance. I started at his tone, but remained resolute. I would not back down.

He lowered himself to my ear and whispered, "If not, I'll try violence."

Therein I panicked gazing at him in disbelief. He would _never_ think of hurting me. I made an attempt to rise from my seat. It was a calculated move. I wanted him to see that his threats, especially ones made in the peak of his emotion, would not subdue me. Placing a heavy hand on my shoulder he pushed me back down into the chair, leaning into me once more. He encircled both my wrists with his hands.

I attempted to wrench free from his hold, but upon gazing at his face feared it a foolish reaction. His countenance was flushed, his pupils dilated. Any sudden attempts on my part would seal my fate – and his. However, all was not lost. I had another weapon of defense. I burst into tears. He immediately released me and knelt by my side.

"Hush, Jane, hush. I am not angry. Your face had such a frozen look to it. I could not endure the expression. Forgive me, and dry your tears."

Upon seeing him subdued, I, too, composed myself, but still he continued to speak of our new life together. I feared his love for me would be his undoing, so hard was it for him to see the reality of our situation.

"Sir, please! We cannot. You are a married man."

"Oh, yes," he sneered, true hatred flickering over the features I loved so well. "You would believe me married to that _thing_ upstairs. That _thing_ that enjoys burning people in their beds, stabbing them in the dead of night, biting the flesh off their bones-"

"Your wife cannot help being mad!" I interrupted, pitying the woman for being the object of such scorn.

My words brought him to my side once more. He clasped my hand and brought it to his lips. "Jane, my little darling, so I will call you because you are, you misjudge me. I do not hate her because she is mad. Do you think I would hate you if you were ill?"

"I do believe so."

"Then you know nothing of me, and the love I am capable of giving." I stared at him longingly after he spoke such words. I could see I had wounded his spirit. "Every atom of your flesh is dear to me; your mind is my treasure. Should you go mad, you would have no other nurse but me. If you suffered fits of rage, I would be the one to hold and embrace you until you calmed. I would be tender and gentle and patient -" He shook his head. "Why do I follow that train of thought? We will flee this accursed place; just one night, Janet, one more night under this tent of Achan. I have a secure sanctuary elsewhere, free from hateful associations, and doubts and slander. You will come with me."

I was so troubled; my eyes wet once more. Keeping my gaze fixed upon the hand he imprisoned, I shook my head.

"Jane, I am not a cool and dispassionate man. Out of pity to me and yourself – beware."

A shudder went through me. I hated to resist him, but I could not yield to his demands. I needed help, and I appealed to One whose strength was insurmountable.

"God help me," I whispered and closed my eyes.

Immediately, Mr. Rochester calmed. He pulled a chair near me. "Jane, allow me to acquaint you with my entire past, so long as you are willing to listen."

"I am, sir. I could listen to you for hours." That was the honest truth.

He smiled. "I only ask minutes. Just keep your hand in mine to prove you are near me. That is not too burdensome a request, I hope."

I gave him the answer he wished to hear, for I knew later I would offer the feral blow that would devastate us both.

Thus began my Master a tale of greed and deceit which led to the end of his happiness and the unfulfillment of his dreams.

He told me how he met his wife. She was practically promised to him as she had a fortune of thirty-thousand pounds – an eligible match by anyone's standards. She was willing to enter the marriage because he was of good ancestry. Thus began the whirlwind courtship. She was shown to him in parties and large circles; only once or twice did he meet with her alone. Their conversations were spent with her flattering him, displaying her charms and accomplishments. He spoke of feeling stimulated and dazzled. Before he knew it, he was married.

"With less sin I might have – but let me remember with whom I speak." I wondered at his half spoken statement, and of the necessity of guarding his words. He hated his wife with a passion that was pitiable. I feared for his soul.

He continued speaking of their first years newly wedded. He discovered his wife to never listen to him; she would cut him off during conversations, or simply walk away. She never esteemed him. She had a violent temper, was vain and stupid, given to drink, and horrid discovery – wholly unchaste. This was what God and man decreed a part of him. It was a woeful tale, and I hurt as I never had before for Mr. Rochester.

"Jane," he abruptly stopped his storytelling. "You look almost sick. Shall I defer the rest for another day?"

I lowered my gaze. There would be no other day – not for us. I would not tell him that at the moment. Lifting my eyes to his once more, I stated, "No, sir. Please finish. I – I do so earnestly pity you."

He lavished on me more loving compliments that I hardly deserved. They cut me so keenly. I wished I could disappear, that the floor would swallow me up wholly. I had to settle for changing the topic.

"What did you do when you found her mad?"

"I fell into a despondency unlike any other known, not because I rued the loss of her faculties, but because I could not dissolve the marriage by any legal means. She is five years my senior, but I knew she would live a long and unhealthy life.

"I realized I had arrived at hell, and was determined to set myself free. One night, I knelt down in my room and unlocked a trunk where I kept a brace of loaded pistols. I meant to shoot myself."

"Oh, Edward!" I spoke with shocked feeling before I could stop myself. Immediately I realized what had escaped my lips and how encouragingly Mr. Rochester took my slip of the tongue. Acting purely on emotion, he managed to steal several kisses from me, each one increasing in passion before I could turn my head away. Still, he was not cooled. He settled for caressing and kissing my hand, which he still held steadfast. He pressed it to his chest.

"Jane, do you feel that? It beats with the heady impulse of love. Jane, you do this to me."

This was torture. I did not want him sorrowful, but neither did I wish him romanticizing over what could not be.

"And then what happened?" I blurted when he tried to kiss me again. He was growing excited in his passionate displays. Realizing my nervousness, he continued his story.

"I returned to England with _my wife_ and installed her in the third story. No one knew her identity excepting Grace Poole and her son Carter. You remember the surgeon who tended to Mason's wounds? The servants all knew I had an insane lunatic living in the home, but they believed her a sister. I had warned them to keep this knowledge from you even before I met you. I feared not being able to find a suitable governess for Adele. Putting our feelings for one another aside for the moment, would you have stayed if you had this knowledge?"

I reflected before answering. "I might have, sir. You never gave me that chance."

He winced at the words, but nodded. "You're right, Janet. It was small on my part. Trying to conceal the madwoman from you was like throwing a cloak over a mountain."

"You certainly went through great lengths to keep me from discovering." My cheeks tingled with the anger I now tried to repress. He had lied to me – over and over again. Even upon Mrs. Rochester entering my room, he had denied it. I had been stupid enough to believe his cryptic explanations. I trusted him too implicitly, believed him too blindly. I gazed at his face and saw all the remorse and shame color his features. My heart softened. He had been terrified to lose me, but lose me he would anyway.

"Again, I concede to your wisdom. It was wrong of me to deceive you, but I was afraid, Jane. I feared your propriety and strong sense of conscience would instill early prejudice. Cowardly, I know, but I wanted you safe before hazarding confidence.

"Safe?" I echoed dumbly. He wanted me a ruined woman, perhaps in an expecting state, thoroughly dependent where I could not pull myself away even if I wanted to. "There is no such thing as 'safe'," was my soft spoken rebuke. "It was still an illusion, like the cloak covered mountain."

He pressed my hand with more force than care. "I see that now, Jane. But God has granted us this opportunity so I could be free from all deceit. He appealed to me to speak to you before, but I would not listen. He brought those men to the church so I could wed you with a clean conscience, no secrets to keep me awake at night. I now do what I should have done from the beginning. I appeal to your nobleness and magnanimity, to accept my pledge of fidelity and to give me yours. Jane, give it to me now."

My eyes widened as we again came to this crossroad. I had thought I had made myself clear on such point. A terrible crisis brewed.

"Jane, promise me. Jane, tell me, 'Edward, I will be yours'."

I wetted my lips. "Mr. Rochester...I will **_not_** be yours."

A long silence followed; fire lit behind his gaze.

"Jane, do you mean to go one way in the world and for me to go another?"

"I do."

Kneeling before me, he released my hand and clasped my wrist, pulling me forward from the seat and into his strong embrace. I tensed in his hold, but he would not relax his.

"Do you mean it now?"

"I do," my voice quivered.

He caressed my back, smoothed his hands over my waist. He attempted to elicit a response from my body, even if my mind was unwilling. He began to kiss my neck, my jaw, he reached my lips. Weak fool I was, I succumbed to the feel of his mouth.

"And now? Do you mean it now?

"I do!" I somehow managed to free myself from his embrace and rise from the seat in which he had me trapped.

He followed. "Jane, it would not be wicked to love me!"

"It would be to obey you!"

The look on his face…. I glanced at the door to my left. Would I be fast enough? I doubted it.

"Think the matter. Consider. If you leave me you will tear all happiness away from me. I will have nothing. I have no wife. I have none but you!"

"I _cannot_ be your wife! I love and fear God too much to make you that promise! Put your trust in Him, sir! He will set you free!"

"You will not yield?"

I shook my head. "No."

"You condemn me to live a wretched and accursed life?"

"No!" I hoped he would see reason. "I wish you to live free from sin and condemnation! To have a _blessed_ life!"

"Jane, you will drive me to despair and ruin!" I opened my mouth to refute his claim, but he rushed to me, speaking soothingly. "Listen, Jane, listen. I have a villa in the Mediterranean secluded from all. Come and live with me there."

A gasp escaped while I shook my head vigorously at his proposal. This seemed a hopeless case.

"Who would you hurt by living with me? You have neither relatives nor acquaintances to offend! Who would know?"

The devil spoke in my very ear. He whispered, enticed, encroached. My steady reason turned mutinous as well, betraying me in my hour of need.

_Comply. He will love you all the days of your life. No one will love you better. You love him in turn. Trust him. All will set itself right._

Grasping at my head to drive out the traitorous thoughts, I cried, "No! _No! I_ care for myself! I will _keep_ the law given to man and sanctioned by God! It is all I have to live by. Too well do I love you, but I cannot risk a life of ruination and despair for the whim of passion."

"The whim of passion!" he roared. "This is all you believe I feel for you!"

I refused to answer the question. I knew that not the case, but I grew tired of giving my refusals; if we continued the argument, I feared I might succumb out of pure exhaustion. Further debate on the matter was over. "I am sorry, Mr. Rochester. That is my final answer. I will _not_ be swayed." Overcome with emotion, I turned from him, but he halted all further movement. Grasping my arm, he pulled me back towards him with a firm tug. I barely had time to release my startled cry for he kissed me again, this time in anger and desperation. His arms encircled my waist, driving my body with force towards his, practically fusing our forms together. I felt things that I was certain were unlawful. His fingers wound into my hair, mingling within the braids, and with a vicious sort of yank, Mr. Rochester pulled my head back, forcing me to look up at him. He continued to kiss me with marked possessiveness.

His hold was painful, his caresses troublesome. He wanted me to succumb to his will, that was plain to see, and if not by my choice then through his force. At first I wrestled against him, but like an oxen against a wood mouse, my strength was nothing to his. Without effort, he pinned my arms behind me. I ceased my struggles, and just for a brief second I feared all lost.

But all was not lost. I still possessed strength from within, strength from my soul. Do to me what he would, God would care for me, and would have mercy on my master's momentary loss of conscience and control.

I submitted to Edward's painful grasp and seemingly submitted to him, accepting whatever God had determined my Fate to be. Calm ensued. However, Mr. Rochester felt anything but calm, his features revealing he experienced his own personal divide within.

"Never has anything been so pliant yet strong-willed. It is like clasping a mere reed." He gave me a shake as he spoke the words as if to prove his point. "I could take her, it would be no contest, but conquest would elude me. I do not wish for possession. I do not desire control. I want her of her own free will. I want her to want me body, mind, and soul." Thus saying so, he released me. "Jane, come to me."

I stayed in my spot for several seconds thereafter regaining the strength he had exhausted from me. I had managed the victory, but felt so weak! I could collapse right there, but an inner resolve would not allow me to.

God gave me one word: depart!

With one final dubious glance at him, I smoothed my wrinkled skirts, passed an uncertain hand through my disheveled hair, and walked towards the door.

His voice stayed my step. "You are going, Jane?"

"Yes," I called from over my shoulder, but did not turn to face him.

"You are leaving me?"

I choked down the sob threatening to escape. "Yes."

"You will not come and be my comforter and rescuer? My love, my woes, my prayers are nothing to you?"

My breathing grew labored. I cursed my human weakness, my passionate nature. Somehow I managed to answer, "I am leaving."

"Jane, go to your room. Meditate over your decision, but I beg you, think of me." What sorrow was in his tone! What agony in his words!

I resumed my march towards my destination, but upon hearing the deep, manly sobs escaping him I ceased all movement. He cried from the depths of his soul.

"Jane, my love, my hope, my life!"

Reader, perhaps you will think me an idiot, but I turned back. With the same determination I sought to leave, I returned to his side, and knelt by his defeated form now collapsed on the sofa. I had shunned his caresses; I now gave them freely. I kissed his cheek and smoothed his hair.

"Edward," for better or for worse, I felt the need to use his name. "I leave you because I love you. I care too much to have you revile your soul. You have oft spoken of redemption. Only God can grant that. He will reward your obedience. You must believe this. You must be strong." I truly believed my spirit again addressed his – except his natural man was not ready to receive the words.

"Jane's love would be the best reward I could ever know. Without it my heart is broken. But she will give it. She will!" And he sprung up from the sofa, lunging for me, hoping to topple me down onto the couch with him, and who knew what consequences would ensue from the action? Being so much smaller than he, I managed to avoid his reach. Nor did I wait to see what would happen if he did grasp me, for this time I did gather my skirts and fled.


	23. Chapter 23

_**girldoctor:** I couldn't agree with you more. Bronte's writing is powerful, masterful, and compelling. Chapter 27 is indeed, a very dark chapter._

_**Alice Kettle:** Thank you! One of Rochester's charms (to me anyway) is his volatility. He is a most passionate man, and as wonderful as that passion is in a positive light, it can be a dangerous thing. But we know our Edward would never hurt his Jane. He could be wicked, but won't. Even though he was wicked in other ways._

_**Bonbonnett:** Your reviews are like good writing, filled with imagery and description and mirth. Meltdown? Atomic blasts? All we need is radioactive heat and we've got ourselves one explosive sizzler! Thank you for commenting. _

_Forgive the woefully short chapter. The next couple are like this._

* * *

_Chapter 23: A Broken Spirit_

_(Rochester's POV)_

A greater deviant than I could not have existed on the continent. I paced the room all night long, regret upon regret chasing away sleep and fatigue.

I did not deserve her love or her affection. But I could not go on without them. She would leave me to save my soul. But I could not imagine a better salvation than her pledging her life to mine.

Damn my recklessness! What was I thinking? I had not thought. How had Mason discovered my wedding plans? Another reason for my aversion towards him and his ilk. The entire lot had brought me nothing but immeasurable trouble and pain.

But Jane…how could I convince her to stay? I had tried every argument during our time in the library, and where had that led? I had threatened, used my own body as a tool against her. Passing a weary hand over my freshly stubbled face, I sighed for what must have been the hundredth time. I would send for her in the morning. No. I would fetch her myself. Why not? We were practically man and wife. I had to explain myself. Apologize with sincerity. Allow her to know I never meant to make her my mistress. That I would never expect her to lay with me without her consent. I loved her purity. It was her morality that called to me, that forced me to take a better look at myself. Damn my human weakness! Damn my carnal self! Damn my deception and lies! Damn me to hell!

I continued my frenzied walk from corner to corner, cursing, damning, praying, when I thought I heard a sound outside my bedroom. I ceased my wanderings and paused – listening.

Could it be her? Could it? Would she…? In the still of the morning hours?

I rushed and opened the door hoping to find her at the other end.

_Edward, I love you and will be yours forever._

But there was nothing there, only an empty hallway that mocked me.

I still had a chance. So long as she stayed near me, I had a chance.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x

"Jane?" I knocked on her door. The sun had only stretched her fingers over the hills and already I begged an interview. We would breakfast together and I would unveil my new plan. I could find her a place to stay, away from Thornfield, away from _me_ until…. Bertha might die. I might one day be free. Jane might be willing to wait…. But more importantly, she would be protected, be safe, and I might be privileged with an occasional visit.

It was a stretch if ever I invented one, but I was the King of Designs.

"Jane?" I knocked harder pressing my ear to the door. Nothing stirred. Was she that angry with me? Was she – there?

Without further warning I entered her chamber. No Jane. Her bed perfectly dressed. She had not lain there. Her things…. I inspected hurriedly and dazed – her things remained. She had taken nothing with her! I began to unlock trunks and examine drawers. Nothing. Everything was in order, almost as if she had only stepped away from the room. I hoped beyond hope…but I knew. My heart told me….

"No! _No!_ She would not leave me this way! She would not! She promised to consider! To reflect! She loves me!"

My heart knew.

"I will find her. She must still be about." The words were only for consolation. An attempt to drown out the voice of conscience and reason that told me Jane had found another way. One without me.

I fled the room hastening after her. She did not have money. She could not have gone far.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

Days passed. Jane could not be found. I barely ate, could not sleep, and dread filled my heart. I feared her dead.

"Sir, do not think such things," Mrs. Fairfax consoled. "We must have hope." Adele seldom spoke, but I could tell she grieved quietly. The servants always watched, whispered. None dared speak a word.

Their presence suffocated me. I would soon send them away, only keeping the quietest ones with me.

I solicited to Briggs hoping he could find her. He would find her. He had exposed me; that man could do anything. Thus a former enemy became my greatest ally.

I took to visiting her room, unpacking her items, laying them out for her in case she returned.

In the midst of doing so I came across her pearl necklace, the only piece of jewelry my Janet had allowed to adorn her beautiful body. It was the only present she had accepted from me. The tiny stones had rested gracefully against her milky white skin, had touched the satin of her body.

Grasping the pearls in my fist, I hid them in my breast pocket close to my heart.


	24. Chapter 24

_**Bonbonnett:** Well said. Rochester's pain is very much a result of his own doing and design, but I'd still offer him some measure of comfort. ) Yes, Adele knew one way or another she was going to be shipped off, but to lose her beloved teacher in the process...and to see her father figure resort to near madness and despondency as a result of it... None of that can be an easy thing for a child to bear._

_**girldoctor:** Thank you so very much. Glad you are enjoying this "retelling"._

_**Harriet Slate:** Thank you for your kind reviews. Much like the chef laboring on his task, my own little flavor pops up now and then in this story. Glad you enjoy._

* * *

_Chapter 24: Jane Elliot_

_(Jane's POV)_

The inmates of Morton Hall were cheery and delightful – well, with the exception of Mr. Rivers, the man whom I owed my life to.

I spent the first three days after quitting Thornfield wandering hopelessly about without food or drink. In my rush to leave that most cherished/dreaded estate, I had forgotten my small parcel in the carriage that had hastened me to Whitcross. Without the few, meagre items, I was completely destitute. At the end of that fateful third day, I believed I would meet my Maker. Welcoming the unconsciousness that called to me, I settled myself upon a boulder, closing my eyes and waiting for the inevitable everlasting darkness to lead me to eternal light. I did not wonder when I felt myself lifted. At the moment I believed celestial beings were responsible for the movement, separating my inner being from its mortal home; it was later I came to realize God had sent an angel of mercy to watch over me on this earth a while longer.

The next morn brought voices and sensations, but nothing tangible. I remained in this state of semi-consciousness for another three days until all became clearer, as if suddenly the dense fog my mind travelled through dissipated. There were faces to the voices, bodies to the touches. I was questioned and in turn could converse.

I had happened upon the home of the Rivers' family. St. John was a young clergy while his sisters, May and Diana, were well bred, intelligent ladies. As they had very little income, the women were doomed to become governesses if Providence did not provide. How I empathized!

At the moment they concerned themselves with me, wanting nothing more than to help and return me to my family.

I promptly explained I had no family and identified myself as one Jane Elliot, readily explaining it was an alias, but for private and personal motives I was to maintain the cover.

Mary and Diana were everything that was consistent with understanding towards my mysterious plight. Their brother, however….

I could not make out Mr. Rivers. The longer I kept residence at Moor House the more he puzzled me. He was soft-spoken, but exacting, patient, yet severe, passionate, yet cold, beautiful to gaze upon, but frightening to allow one's look to linger. Forgive the paradox, but it seemed to me St. John lived by the verse, "I beat my body into submission," except he did not seem to rely on spiritual aide, rather he denied himself all pleasure based on his own denials. He never joked; barely laughed.

_Do you ever laugh, Miss Eyre?_

With the ladies at Morton I laughed easily and often, but at night! At night I cried. My heart, as Mr. Rochester – my Edward – had predicted, my heart bled at the separation. I prayed for him every night, intense and fervent were my supplications to the Almighty. Not a day went by that I did not think of my loving master.

But with the rise of dawn I was calm and diffident once more. Proper Miss Eyre ready for her undertaking once any such prospect became ready; ready to me it had to be from the looks of the Rivers' circumstances. Mary and Diana would not remain at Moore House for long. Their rich uncle had died and left his inheritance solely to another relative. Their faces were the picture of dashed hopes and dreams. Utmost despondency claimed their features. Even for the briefest second, St. John, too, allowed himself a human moment.

"I am sorry." I offered my condolences.

"So are we," Diana bluntly stated with something of a sniffle. "Forgive us if we seem cold to the news of our uncle's demise. We hardly knew him, but it would have been nice to have a small fortune."

"God sets our paths in motion," St. John was quick to remind, quickly recovering from his previous bout of emotion.

"Yes, we know," Mary heaved with a sigh. The quieter of the two Rivers sisters, she seldom argued with her brother.

Diana was stronger willed. "True that may be, but the path of a governess! A governess' lot is akin to slavery."

_You will give up your governess slavery immediately. He_ had spoken those words to me the day after our engagement.

"Hush, Diana. We must feel gratitude in our predicaments, and be thankful for our circumstances," St. John admonished.

"I was a governess," I mumbled before I could stop myself. As Diana and Mary were in deep mourning – not at the loss of their uncle, but at the loss of their prospects – they failed to hear. Diana was also bent on continuing the present debate with her brother, but he ended all further argument by a simple lift of his hand.

Yet when I glanced at St. John his clear eyes fixed upon me with the deepest of interest. I feared he would persist with inquiries as he had done when I first arrived, but whatever his thoughts he kept them to himself.

Part of me could not wait to receive my commission. With Diana and Mary gone, that would thrust me into St. John's sole company. The prospect held little appeal. His pious existence made me feel a very debased woman indeed.


	25. Chapter 25

_**Bonbonnett:** While St. John is not my favorite character by any means, he is interesting in his own right. He is the complete opposite of Rochester, even in his feelings for Jane. Because he does not love her, is why he would marry her. He knew he would never idolize her._

_**Alice:** Yes, I added that brief little lapse of humanity to escape through his ice cold veneer. Don't worry, it doesn't happen too often, LOL. St. John deserves his own fanfiction. Thanks for commenting._

_**girldoctor:** (I feel like I've got a running commentary on St. John here.) I couldn't agree more! He is complex, suppressed, and deep. Rosamond Oliver really would've helped him in a manner akin to the way Elizabeth helped Mr. Darcy lighten up._

_**Leighawen:** Hello! Thanks for stopping by and reading and so glad you enjoy._

_**Isis:** Thank you for taking the time to read each chapter and offer feedback. I agree with you. It is a lot of fun writing from Rochester's POV and being privy to his thoughts and feelings regarding his truest love. I appreciate your readership and reviews._

_Here's the next chapter. I think this is the shortest of the bunch. It is told in italics and written in present tense._

* * *

_Chapter 25: The Haunting_

_(Rochester's POV)_

_"Sir, why are you still awake?" the gentle almost whisper-like voice inquires._

_"I cannot sleep." I find myself responding despite my better judgment._

_"Original response, yours. Truly something I could not conclude of my own accord."_

_"Wicked child!" I smile at her words and teasing. She exceeds in her taunts. "One might wonder at your appearing before me so suddenly."_

_She glides softly to my side – noiselessly. "No particular reason, only concern for my dear master. You appearance speaks...neglect. " Her fingers wind into my disheveled locks, and she smoothes them with her small fingers. Her other hand rests on my shoulder._

_My face grimaces at her nearness. Soon, she will fly away. "Jane, do not tease me so. My heart cannot take it."_

_"I do not tease, Edward." She pouts, placing herself fully before me, and I lean forward in my seat clasping her to me, my face burying into her abdomen. I hold her and take in her scent. For the moment, that is enough._

_"I miss you. I think of you every night wishing you will come back to me."_

_She laughs at my melancholy and brooding. "I am here. I have come back."_

_"I have heard this before. You will disappear too."_

_She does not respond with words, but with kisses and caresses. I brace myself for each one. They taste delicious and heavenly, but – they are empty._

_"Do not deny yourself of my pleasure for fear, Edward. Awake to me."_

_"You will not be here **when** I wake."_

_"Then you must continue to wait. But do not lose heart. I keep my promises, Edward." She nuzzles her nose to my cheek, planting soft kisses to my jaw line, traveling to my ear. __"Do not lose heart, Edward. I am here." She snakes a hand beneath the fabric of my shirt to my chest. She grabs mine and places it above hers – wicked, wicked fairy._

_"Do not lose heart. Do not lose my heart, Edward. It is yours, and only yours."_

_Tears spring to my eyes. The talk is maddening. My entire body stiffens and trembles. "Jane, come to me now." I reach for her now, hungrily, wantonly. Alas, she begins to disappear._

_"Soon," whispers my fairy. "Soon."_

_"Jane!"_


	26. Chapter 26

_**girldoctor:** Yay! So glad you approve. Sometimes it can be a little difficult to add those "missing" scenes. Glad it works._

_**Bonbonnett:** Thank you. With the simplest words, much can be conveyed. (Yes, I am purposely trying to sound philosophical.)_

_**Alice:** Naughty? Who's naughty? ) That little snippet did carry many different emotions, I now realize. Thank you for reading and commenting._

_**Talktell:** Thank you so much! I've seen stories with differing POV's and have wanted to try my hand at it. Glad it works._

_**Chevelle:** You've given me a beautiful gift with your words. I am humbled. Thank you. 3_

_**Isis:** Again, thank you for all your insights into the different chapters. This is like one emotional rollercoaster with the highs and lows. When Edward and Jane are together, the atmosphere is charged._

_**Mere:** Thank you for commenting! Think of this version of the story as the "extended version" with "deleted scenes" and such not included in the original! :) Again, than you for taking the time to provide your feedback._

* * *

_Chapter 26: Discovering Miss Eyre_

_(Jane's POV)_

St. John would not leave; no matter how clearly I showed him that his company troubled me, he simply would not leave.

He sat in the small parlor of my cottage, a self-satisfied smile on his handsome face. Yes, St. John was handsome. Only a blind person would be incapable of admitting that fact, and even then the assertion was doubtful. Surely a sightless soul could feel the smooth plane of his cheeks, determine the straightness of his Grecian-like nose, and discover the softness of his slim eyebrows. His features spoke his elegance. I had convinced myself it was for this reason the beautiful and kind Rosamond Oliver pined after him. Good as he was, the lady did not love him for his gregarious nature or winsome personality.

I chastised my mockery, reminding myself yet again that I lived because of Mr. Rivers. No matter how inconvenient his visits were, he did not merit my silent ridicule.

And yet, how Mr. Rochester and I would laugh about life in general –

I could not think of _him_ now. As it was, I spent ninety percent of my day chastising myself for thinking of him.

The real reason why I intensely disliked St. John's unannounced visits (or otherwise) was due to the way I behaved around him. Upon seeing him a sense of restrictiveness claimed me. I wanted to please him, yet found myself lacking.

Mr. Rochester on the other hand, I could please without even being aware.

Enough, Jane Eyre!

Even in my thoughts, I wanted to emulate St. John. Having studied his character, his apparent self-denial and rigorous self-control, I attempted to exercise his exactness. I wanted to die to my passionate self and become the placid, stoic philosopher he was – even if it did not suit me.

Passion had brought me nothing but trouble. It had removed me from my aunt's home and wayward "protection". It had almost bound me to a fraudulent marriage, nearly ruining my reputation.

But, alas, how I loved him!

"Jane," St. John's smooth voice recollected me to the present, "I fear you are not proving yourself an adept host this evening. You have not given me much attention."

I longed to retort a quick comment, something that would make those unflinching features react, whether in anger or humor it would suit me the same. Instead I mumbled an apology and hastened to prepare tea like a good little housemaid might. He spoke not another word until I finished my preparations and assumed a seat at the table near him.

"You might wonder at my sudden appearance this evening."

I said nothing. St. John hated interruptions.

"As you know, I have been away several nights on the solicitor's request. While with him we began a discussion of an individual he has been ardently searching for." I drank my tea with great speed. "This young lady was once the daughter of a clergy, both parents long deceased. Upon such tragedy, the child was sent to live with her uncle and aunt, the former a magistrate at Gateshead, both of whom have also since passed away. I understand recent tragedy has visited that family as well. Jane, you should take care to sip the hot drink. Your countenance has become as fire. For reasons unbeknownst, the orphan had been sent away to a charitable institution. There she lived for eight years managing to survive the outbreak of Typhus though she was a wee bit of a child I am told. Upon turning eighteen, the young lady left the institution to assume the duty of governess at Thornfield Hall under the protection of a man named Edward Fairfax Rochester."

"St John-" I began, desperation in my voice. I who had vowed control now had to listen to this tragic, terrible story.

"Jane, what have I told you about speaking out of turn? Surely you would not allow your pupils such liberty."

I sighed in resignation, pressed my lips together and glanced at my hands.

"Well, the most curious thing happened during this young lady's time as governess there. The master of the house fell in love with her." My cheeks burned. I willed self control by shutting the lids of my eyes. Well did I recall Edward's proclamation of love and adoration, and my return of those sentiments. "He offered marriage, and the young girl accepted. A happy story, one would think, except that the man was already married – to a lunatic. The young girl had no knowledge of this affair, and upon discovery she fled the house at fear of erring into sexual temptation, thus saving her reputation and soul."

Another long pause, while St. John took a long, calm sip of his brew. I wished him to choke on it.

"The young lady's name is-"

"Jane Eyre," I finished for him, just to erase the smug look of satisfaction that crept onto his features. He thought himself so clever, presenting the information in such a sly way.

He fixed an icy stare on me as he now paused, miffed, perhaps, that I had not allowed him to state my real name. All these months he had referred to me as "Miss Elliot."

"Yes, Jane Eyre." Silence. "Mr. Briggs-"

"Mr. Briggs?" I gasped at the name remembering the circumstances surrounding when last I had seen him. "Mr. Briggs is the solicitor?"

"Yes, Jane. Truly you must take heed to control your outbursts. I do not fault you for the circumstances that befell you in the past, but you must learn to control yourself at present."

Those were the type of remarks that made it difficult for me to approve of St. John without reservation, but I ceased all further comments hoping he would hasten to conclude his tale.

"Mr. Briggs was commissioned by Mr. Rochester to find this young lady, to find you, offering rewards for any information pertaining to her, your whereabouts. I understand now your need for the alias. Very astute on your part, indeed. I inquired as to her appearance, and Mr. Briggs gave me such an exact description that left me in no doubt as to who this Jane Eyre was."

My lip trembled violently at the question waiting to burst forth from within. I dared not risk another outburst and waited.

Fixing his clear eyes on mine a long minute he finally spoke. "I see you wish to make an inquiry. Proceed."

I barely let him finish the final word before I rushed forth. "How is Mr. Rochester?"

"I do not know. My interview was with Mr. Briggs. Speaking frankly, I do not care, and neither should you. Such a man is not worthy-"

"You don't know him. Don't pronounce an opinion!" I hotly countered.

I feared he would take offense to my abrupt criticism, but instead he gave a stiff nod. "Fair enough."

After unleashing a bit of my temper, I quickly calmed, allowing St. John to continue. He told me that Mr. Rochester disappeared, and the queries in relation to my person desisted. I could scarcely breathe at the news. My poor master. What had become of him?

My face must have clearly expressed my thoughts for St. John then commented, "Perhaps I shall defer the rest of the story for another day."

_Shall I defer the rest for another day?_

"I underestimated the nature of your feelings for this man. When you possess more sense of self I shall resume. Good night, Miss _Eyre_." He rose and began to show himself out. Truthfully, I was desirous to give free solace to my thoughts, but something was not right. Ironically enough, I called him back.

"Wait!" I shot out of my seat and rushed to him, grasping his elbow. I supposed him unused to any such display because he stared at me with something of shock, if indeed St. John could feel such a sentiment. "Why did Mr. Briggs meet with _you_?"

"I told you. I will share that portion of the tale another day."

He opened the door. My arm stretched forward with a ferocity I had not practiced since the day I walloped my cousin John, or when I attempted to strike my dear Edward, and with firm resolution, I slammed the door shut, ceasing St. John's escape. "No! You will tell me **_now_**!" It was one of the rare moments when my passion overcame the clergy's severity.

"I am like ice," he warned, "cold and hard."

"I am like fire, and fire liquefies."

I had never thought I would see the day, but St. John's somber expression did melt under the force of fire – and he smiled. It was an awkward and unpracticed smirk, but never had I seen it before.

"Jane, just this time I concede to your fervor."

We resumed our seats where I strove to listen with utmost patience. "Mr. Briggs sought me to discuss the inheritance of my dead uncle…our dead uncle."

I stared while the drift of his words sank upon me. I would not interrupt. I would listen-

"We are cousins, Jane, you and I, and Diane and Ma-"

I rose and hugged him without speech. Then I returned to my seat as if my past action never occurred.

St. John looked quite out of breath following the display. Poor man. He should have accepted Rosamond Oliver's dinner invitation, and hence her love. No doubt she would give him his full share of embraces, and he would cease to look so shocked at the ecstatic displays given by his impulsive younger cousin, me.

"I must finish this story." He blinked and shook his head. "Do you remember our disappointment - my sisters' and mine - at our uncle's leaving his inheritance to another relative?"

"Yes."

"_You_ are the relative. Our Uncle John Eyre left all his fortune to you." He paused, perhaps waiting the shouts that would shake the foundation of the cottage.

None followed.

"Don't you care to discover how much you are worth?"

The impending news frightened me. My dreams revolved around hard work and amassing a humble amount of money. Now….

"Twenty-thousand pounds."

I stared aghast, and it was St. John's turn to behave out of character. He laughed. It was a fine laugh, hearty and full of soul – but it was not Edward's laugh.

"You are an unusual creature, Jane Eyre."

_You are a rare breed, Miss Eyre_.

"You could not look more aghast if I had told you you were a murderer whose crimes had been uncovered. I tell you you are a rich woman and you stare with a look of horror, but I tell you we are cousins and you rejoice."

"You have had sisters your whole life. I have no one. This discovery of family makes me rich." I paused. "St. John write to Mary and Diana, or better, I will write to Diana and Mary." I rose from my seat.

"Now Jane-"

"They must come home at once. We are rich."

"You are rich."

"We will divide the money equally. Five thousand pounds for each of us."

"Jane! Jane!" He detained my movements with his hand. "You are over-excited. Sleep on this. Consider."

_Be still. Be still. You are over-anxious._

"There is nothing to consider. They must come home and the fortune will be shared."

From the expression on St. John's once unreadable face, I could see he approved.


	27. Chapter 27

_**Alice:** LOL. No, Jane did not strike St. John. She used force to close the door with a certain vehemence she had not exhibited since the day she struck her cousin, John Reed. I can see where the confusion might have been. Thank you for your enthusiasm and encouragement. Jane is supposed to be a passionate gal, as much as she is quiet, demure, and reserved. In the movie versions we only see the latter and not too much of the former of those character traits in the adult Jane._

_**Bonbonnett:** Merci. That chapter is a turning point for Jane. It pretty much marks her destiny._

_**girldoctor:** Thank you again._

_**Mere:** I agree with you on that score. St. John's severity would soon grow old and tiresome, and Jane would only be a shadow of her former self. Thankfully, that doesn't happen in this story. That really wasn't a spoiler. LOL._

_**FAESTPACK:** Thank you so much for your kind words. I love Jane Eyre too! So we're in good company._

* * *

_Chapter 27: A Nightmare Unfolds_

_(Rochester's POV; Jane jumps in at the end) :D_

The halls of Thornfield resonated with every step I took. Though sluggish, each pace echoed forcefully as though I stomped through the halls instead of walking as I did, in defeat.

Since Jane's disappearance, I sent more than half the servants away. Adele was shipped off to school. I broke connections and severed ties. I, too, turned into something of a ghost, wandering aimlessly, seldom speaking, all my thoughts on my little Jane.

I prayed to God if she had departed from this world that He would see fit to take me as well. I could not live without Janet. I merely existed in shadows.

I made my way to where I always sojourned, her former chamber. I would lie on her bed and pretend I could inhale her fragrance, though long had all traces of hers vanished. A deep sorrow would cut my heart when I recalled the last time I stepped into that room whilst she was still here. Closing my eyes, I remembered the scene.

_"Jane, will you let me in?" I pleaded much as a beggar might. _

_Her small form appeared at the door, and the sight of her at once arrested me. She had changed from her Lowood frocks to her simple cotton dressing gown. Her still damp hair hung free, wild and abandoned. She looked very tempting indeed._

_"Now, sir, whatever is the matter? You're not scared of the lightning and thunder?" Her dark eyes danced merrily at the idea._

_Wicked, wicked girl! A smile stretched my face as her teasing. Oh, I would not let her get away with such impertinence. Her punishment would be my reward, and hers in turn, except she might not immediately recognize it as such. Not in the beginning at least. But at the moment, I could not play victor, only humble servant if I was to gain her permission._

_"Dearest love, I only wanted to make sure you are safe."_

_"Quite so, sir." She continued to tease and deny me immediate access. I would push the envelope further._

_"Edward," I reminded her in a voice unlike my own. Leaning forward, I reached for her hand at the frame of the door and placed my lips there. The deliciousness of her made certain male parts react and constrict. _

_"Edward," she whispered in turn. At once she lowered her gaze, but not before I caught the look of surrender behind them. Stepping back, my lovely Janet granted me entrance, and what we shared was a renewal of rapture, a flow of passion. How we skirted around the edges of temptation. Her wondrous form pressed tightly against mine, it was a battle of body and spirit not to give in to more._

How much joy had we shared. How strongly she had kissed me! How sweet were her giggles and delightful her innocent gasps.

A part of me – my carnal man – cursed myself for not seducing her earlier, not tempting her sooner. But then she would not have been able to regenerate me, for it was her purity that drew me to her as much as any of her feminine charms.

"Jane, forgive me. I am a weak and sinful man, selfish still to the core. How the Lord has not struck me down-"

Words were a strange thing, powerful and mysterious. No sooner did I utter that thought when all others were arrested by a strong smell, pungent and heady. And sitting upright once more, I paused, lifted my nose to the air, and inhaled.

Smoke.

"No…."

"Fire!" I recognized the panicked voice as Leah's.

I bolted from the room, no pause in my step now. The entire second floor was blackened by smolder. The few servants scurried about dazed and confused.

"Out! Get yourselves outside!" I needn't question what had happened. Well did I know. God had foretold this through Jane's dream. She truly was an angel of mercy sent by God to save my soul. She had not failed, but I had.

"Is everyone accounted for?" I asked John.

"Grace Poole is missing," answered his wife, Mary, "and – and," I knew what she dared not utter. _My wife_.

"Bertha!" I cried, running back into the quickly consuming mansion.

"No, sir, no!" John tried to stop me, but I avoided his hold and ran within. I had to try.

The second story was practically all ablaze. Bertha, mad woman that she truly was, had sought refuge higher, not lower. She moved towards the fire, not away, standing at the rooftops. Smoke surrounded us.

"Bertha! Come!" I cried to her with outstretched arm.

She stared at me, a hollow and vacant look on her face. Suddenly recognition cleared her visage, a glimmer of peace softened her hardened and bloated features.

"_Regreso a mi hogar?_"

"Yes, Bertha. Come with me. We'll go back in the house." Half my words were strangled by coughs.

"No…no…" she shook her head. "Home," she pointed to the sky. "_Libertad._"

I stared, doubted, then panicked. She had climbed the ledge.

"No, Bertha. No! NO!" I rushed to her at once in an attempt to cease her movements, but my hurry increased her haste, and without hesitation, Bertha, spread her arms to the sky, and plunged off the tower ledge. The terrified screams from below confirmed what had become of her.

That was the last time I saw my wife alive, her body now a splattered heap on the concrete.

Not even in death could I do right by her. All my protection, all my secrecy, all my doubts, for _this_? As I stared at her shattered form, I considered leaping after her. It seemed the only justifiable end. I knew my chances of returning to the ground floor unscathed were slim at this point. Fire consumed the entire second story. I could hear the distant voices of the servants calling, but it was the tiniest of voices that brought me to reason.

_You must do all that is right, Edward. We were born to strive and endure, you such as I._

"Jane." I looked around as if expecting to see her by me. All I saw were columns of black smoke. "What do I do?"

_Return to those awaiting. God is with you, Edward. I am with you._

"I will obey, Jane."

I tried my best to slip through the blazing, smoked halls. Descending the stairs, my last recollection was the force of a beam collapsing over me.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x

In the dark stillness of my small room by the Moors, I kept a prayerful vigil by my bed.

"Dear Lord, keep Edward safe. Protect him from all harm."


	28. Chapter 28

_**Bonbonnett:** Thank you for commenting, and you brought up a good point. The only reason I had this version of Bertha speaking Spanish is due to the '06 movie when she calls Jane the "p" word. And I thought that interesting when I first saw it. But your point seems even more plausible, LOL, and the fact that the brother just happened to be hanging around Jane's rich, but dying uncle in Madeira lends more credence to the idea. Of course, I could have had her speak Portuguese... Again, thanks for your kind words._

_**dress4m:** Thanks for the enthusiasm! I know. I wish the couple could have just had the happily ever after from the start. But you know, adversity builds character. :) Thanks for commenting._

_**FAESTPACK:** Thank you for keeping up with the story and your support._

_**Alice:** LOL. I hadn't considered the irony. Just figured Jane's prayers kept him from tumbling head first along with his wife. Thanks for noticing that. )_

_**Mere:** I would have loved to know what really happened when Edward came to that door - and 3 x's! I would have said, "Come on in!" :D Thanks for commenting._

_**girldoctor:** Thank you. You are too kind._

* * *

_Chapter 28: St. John's Proposal_

_(Jane's PoV)_

"Jane, I would like to speak to you," St. John called as I sat with Diana and Mary in the drawing room. A bonny fire lit and warmed the abode. It was a blaze to my own liking, potent and wild, yet set in its secure confines. Fain would I have enjoyed staying and basking in its ruddy glow, but St. John beckoned, and as of late when he ordered, I obeyed.

In the past few months during the family's reunion, I found myself pulled into a strange sort of spell when around my male cousin. Please do not think it attraction for there was but only one man I could ever love, but I found myself wanting to please St. John. It was not a matter of entering into his good opinion as much as it was my belief in his imparting a sense of righteousness. Free from passion, rather, passion brought under strict control, he seemed a standard I wanted to reach. If one fellow man could call upon God's aid to crucify his nature, why not I? And though I knew it was God who imparted grace, I looked to my human counterpart to lead the way.

We walked for a mile or so to a river bank. The day was favorable. A balmy air still blew as the sun began its descent over hills and mountaintops. Finding a smooth boulder, St. John requested me to sit while he gazed at the rushing water. We remained in silence for several minutes thereafter overlooking the scene.

"Jane," he began stoically, still watching the fast moving stream of water, his features as still as a statue, "I leave for India in six weeks." He announced it as calmly as if he were to take a trip into town.

"I know. May the Lord bless you and keep you. It is the purpose you were bent of fulfilling."

"I would like very much a coadjutor to accompany me."

I did not immediately follow the flow of his intent. "Ah, yes. I can understand that. Does no one at the church seem willing to join you?"

The smallest of smiles passed his lips. As of late, I noticed that I somehow seemed to amuse my cousin in some incomprehensible way. "Allow me to rephrase," he continued. "I would like a helpmate."

Now I stared with understanding – and a growing sense of dread. "Do you mean…?" I could not say the word.

"Yes, Jane, I want a wife, and you-" he reached for my hand slowly, gently, but dispassionately. He took that limb as he would a dying elder's to comfort her, "you would be most suitable for the task."

"Suitable for the task?" Did we speak of marriage or a business proposal? Immediately my thoughts flew to that fateful night in Mr. Rochester's garden when he professed his love. I recalled how my passion roused me to speak first.

_Take care, Jane. Do not speak in the wild manner habitual to you. It may attach you to a curate whose love for God will kill you._

"Jane, I have made you my study for the past weeks and have discovered many favorable qualities. You are strong, yet gentle, wise, but meek. You are self-sacrificing, compliant, submissive – all the wonderful attributes a man could want in a wife. You deny yourself pleasure just to bring me a moment's content. Any man who does not recognize such qualities is a fool."

The words were lovely and perhaps would win another woman over, but his tone lacked warmth and feeling, much like his heart. He spoke well, but his expression and tenor left one wanting. I doubted even Rosamond Oliver would be swayed.

"What does your heart say?" He pressed for an answer. It was then I realized he was serious in his request.

I could not speak for a quiet storm brewed within me. I liked St. John, cared for him with familial feelings, but I could not marry him. Truly I could see he would honor this as a contract. He would respect me; keep to no one else but me. I had seen enough of his discipline to not doubt him on that account. Perhaps he could even esteem me, grow fond of me as a suitable helpmate, but he would never, ever love me. To join into the greatest union known to a man and woman absent of love seemed a perverse distortion of God's work.

"No, St. John," I answered at long last. "I cannot marry you. I am not suited for the task. Choose someone else."

He insisted. "But you are suited, Jane. Who amongst us is equal to the task God requires? That is where we appeal to His help and ask His Spirit to strengthen. Jane, you will do very well. You will be that helpmate I can influence efficiently in life, and retain absolutely 'til death."

I shuddered at his view of marriage. "St. John, marriage is a holy union."

"Yes, meant for helping one another. If you are worried about love, Jane, do not. Spiritual love is the key, as is doing the will of the Master. This _is_ His will. Pray for God to enlighten you. Give him your heart."

Every word he spoke increased my burden. "Oh, I will give him my heart to God. You do not want it."

I could see I had spoken too brashly. The inner woman I had stifled for months – the old man, as St. John referred to our more passionate selves – called to be set free. St. John's expression spoke his disapproval.

However, for me it was liberating. Prior to this I had feared and awed St. John, his severity and discipline had been an idea of wonder and admiration. But the veil had lifted. I saw his fallibilities. He was not perfect, and for my part, I liked it better.

"If you want me to go to India, I will go, but not as your wife. I will go as your sister."

He shook his head. "Impossible. It will not do. How can a man not yet thirty take with him a girl of nineteen if she be not wed to him? We will at times be alone, Jane."

"It does not signify. We are family. Besides, you don't want a woman. You want a comrade. Why throw marriage into the equation?"

"It is enough, Jane. We will be married without the complications and distractions that passionate sentiments bring. It truly is a most perfect design." He reached for my hand yet again; I had half a mind to pull it away. "You will not repent marrying me. I will be a good husband to you, of that you may be certain."

_Are you fearful I shall not prove a good husband?_

Oh, Edward.

"Enough love will follow upon the marriage to make the union right even in your eyes."

My brows shot up at his attempt at the romantic avowal. It fell flat.

"St. John, I remain steady in my promise. I will go with you to India, but unattached, unwed, and-" before I could stop myself I blurted, "unshackled to you."

Though his expression remained calm, I could see he was offended.

"Unshackled?" he repeated. "You see this as some sort of captivity?"

I closed my eyes and sight, "St. John-"

"You would willingly have married _that_ man without a moment's hesitation, but you refuse a noble and honest offer? Jane, there is no deceit in the arrangement. I lay everything before you with perfect clarity of mind and heart."

His reasoning was perfect and exact, and yet he failed to understand.

"St. John, I cannot accept you as a husband. Please do not press the issue, and please do not hold it against me. Let us shake hands and leave the matter alone."

I held out my hand to his, which he took, but the hold and feel was limp and indifferent. I sensed the next six weeks were to be long ones.


	29. Chapter 29

_**Bonbonnett:** St. John to me is something of a riddle at times. How can someone so close to God, so passionate in that regard, be so clueless of others around him? Thanks for sharing your thoughts._

_**ladyofthedragons:** Thank you so much! This story is truly a labor of love._

_**Alice:** St. John did have this fix over Jane. It was part of that enigma charm, if I can call it that. Girls like to figure the unfigurable boys out, especially when they're very perceptive and intelligent, like our Jane. Thanks for commenting_

_**Commander:** Hello! Don't you worry, things happen. I'm just glad you enjoyed the chapter. Thanks for stopping by._

_**Oh Jennie:** Thanks for reading the story. Those pesky typos always get the better of me._

* * *

_Chapter 29: The Mighty Fallen_

_(Rochester's POV)_

I knew it day, but darkness prevailed. This was not due solely to my recently acquired handicap, for I was now stone blind and crippled, but more to the lowliness of spirit. My outlook on life remained perpetually bleak, my mood continually depressed. The light of my life was far from me, leaving all hope extinguished.

Like Jane had once dreamt, Thornfield was now a ruin. I had retired to the manor at Ferndean, a cottage long since abandoned and forgotten. At one time this was where I had thought to leave Bertha, but the damp walls and chilled drafts would have led to premature death. Many things I may have been, but an assassin was not one of them. How fitting that following my wife's death the home would now serve as my prison. I willingly confined myself away from the world, a physically broken man to match my downtrodden spirit.

I continually dreamt of Jane's return, and when I wakened I found myself alone, cold, and desolate. But perhaps it was better this way now. I was not the man I once was. I was barely half a man. Jane (if she was still alive) was full of life, strong, youthful, passionate. She would eventually marry, if she was not already married. Crushing thought! How could she ever want me?

I felt the heat of the fire tickling my features. I suppose I dozed off, for some time later I was roused by a hand on my shoulder.

Blinking several times I was amazed by what I _saw_. Jane was before me; I could detect everything about her with perfect visual acuteness. My Janet was dressed in ivory, the color not too far off from her wedding gown. Her chestnut hair hung freely about her. Her eyes sparkled brilliantly, their green irises revealing warmth and love.

This most certainly was a dream.

_Melancholy again, Edward._

"Lovely spirit, why do you torment me? You see my situation."

She giggled. _I am not a spirit. I only come to bring you some comfort. I daresay you are in dire need of some._

"I know what I need, but I do not think the Lord will be so gracious as to offer it to me."

Her face grew serious. _I see. You have engaged in transgression, Edward Fairfax?_

I smirked at her use of my name. "That I have, kind messenger."

_Instead of woe and self-pity perhaps you should try repentance. Even King David had to humble himself after his entanglement with Bathsheba. She shook her head, the silken locks bouncing about. Men are always weak where we women are concerned._

She brought joy and comfort, even while issuing her gentle reprimands. How I longed to pull her into my embrace! Yet, if I reached for her, she would disappear.

"I appeal to your wisdom, Jane."

_No, not my wisdom. God's grace. Appeal to His grace. It is freely given, and so are His blessings. Look higher, Edward. Look higher._

"I am weak."

_We are all weak. God gives us strength. Do it. You will be a better man after this, Edward….a stronger man._

Casting a wild gaze about the room, I found I could no longer see her. She had vanished once more.

My fist curled in frustration and I longed to hurl an object, take vengeance on my cursed form.

_God loves you, Edward… I love you._

I stilled and woke. I was in my room, in my bed, not in the drawing room at all.

I prayed.


	30. Chapter 30

_**dress4m:** Thanks so much for stopping by and commenting. Those wore dark days for Rochester, in every sense of the word. But light and love fast approach! ;)_

* * *

_Chapter 30: In Stillness He Calls_

_Jane's POV_

St. John continued to press for my hand in marriage; not because he loved me. He loved my soul and wanted to secure it for the kingdom of heaven. He was a pastor and I the sole member of the Church of Rivers. Marriage and India were equal to salvation. I gave him credit – he was passionate in his endeavors.

I continually denied his request. I would not marry him, could not marry him. I told him I loved him as a sister, that I would go with him based on my affections as kin. There was no negotiating with him. The design was what he termed, "God's perfect plan."

I had had enough. His perseverance was troublesome at best. With a sigh I strayed from his side and his company, resolved to ignore all further persisting on his part. Glad was I that he was leaving for Cambridge in a few days.

Unfortunately that plan was easier thought than executed. I had to see St. John every evening since we lived in the same house. As he was a naturally cold man his comportment did not alter towards me in any detectable manner. I could not say the same regarding myself. It was obvious his presence discomforted me. Both Mary and Diana saw my pain; knowing the particulars they sided with me. They did not wish either him or me to go to India. They had wanted St. John to marry me in the hopes I would keep him in England! Shocked were they to discover that marriage to their brother would hasten his resolve to quit the continent with me by his side. The sisters protested to him, to me, to themselves; it mattered not. The end result remained unchanged.

One evening St. John read from the twenty-first chapter of Revelation. St. John brought those words to life; his voice resonated with a passion I had never heard before. His fire stirred within me, burning not only my soul, but my heart.

He then culminated with a prayer. Again he was forceful and vigorous, powerful and thrilling. I listened enraptured and gave the loudest amen of the three audients present.

He was to leave the next morning, so Diana, Mary and I bid our good-nights at an earlier hour. Diana and Mary went at the same time, and soon brother and sisters were engaged in a discussion of frenzied whispers. I felt wholly out of place, but I could not quit the room without taking leave. I tried to pretend indifference to the interesting scene, but performed the task quite unsuccessfully, especially when I thought my name passed from his lips – but I could not be certain. After several more minutes of this, the ladies kissed their brother on the cheek and left.

Immediately, I rose from my seat wishing to make the goodbye quick yet sincere. I walked over to him with an extended hand. "I wish you a safe journey, St. John."

"Thank you." The young curate smiled and then paused, not relaxing his hold on my limb. "You know I will only be gone a fortnight and then return to prepare for my trip overseas. I will use this time away to meditate and prepare myself." He captured my gaze with an intense stare. "I do hope you will use this time to reflect in turn. I know you have tired of my asking, but I must persevere in what I know is God's will for our lives. He does not give up on His children, how can I give up on you? Do not choose that road that leads to perdition, but that one that leads to life and life in abundance." St. John reached for me, placing his hand on my head like a pastor praying for the sick. He was such a good and kind-hearted man. I began to understand what Rosamond Oliver saw in him. The smitten beauty saw his soul and the passion that lay therein. Her hope was certainly misplaced, for I knew from previous discussions she thought she could have him transcend those energies to other things – like her.

I was not clouded by such illusions. If I accepted St. John there would be no blind emotion and hopeful suppositions. His first, his only love was God. He would always be guiding, gentle, devoted, but never wholly in love or desiring of me, for to him that was idolatry. And the aforementioned fashion was exactly how I loved Mr. Rochester.

"You are silent, Jane." This was a rarity for me; I who had left him in no doubt of my opinion of him during his previous attempts to procure my hand. "Could you decide now?" He drew me to him more closely, but with cautious gentility. I was under some spell, for I allowed him to not only pull me closer, but to place his arm about my shoulders.

"If only I knew God's perfect will, His perfect plan. If I knew this to be the road chosen for me, then I could give you my wholehearted acceptance."

"My prayers are heard!" he ejaculated as if he had pined for me for years, and had at last received the answer he wished to hear. With utmost care, he brought me to his bosom, and I leaned my head to his chest. It was almost as if he loved me. Almost.

I closed my eyes and wondered what the future would hold for me as Mrs. Rivers when suddenly I jerked back.

"What do you hear?" St. John inquired.

_Jane! Jane! Jane!_

Edward's voice rang clean and clear as if he were in the very room with me.

"I am coming!" I cried to the disembodied voice. "Wait for me!" and I broke from St. John's limp hold and ran outside.

St. John followed, but I told him I needed to be alone to gather my thoughts. He showed surprising understanding and compliance to the request. Perhaps I had even managed to frighten him with my forceful and excited state.

Alone in my room I bolted the door and prayed in earnest for Mr. Rochester.

In the stillness of the room the answer became evident. I now knew what I had to do.


	31. Chapter 31

_**dress4m:** Just for you, dress. The happy reunion. :D_

_**Commander**: One of my favorite parts of the story. *sighs*_

_**Bonbonnett:** Oh, yes! I remember the 'calling' scene. It was wonderfully done. I'm telling you, so much could have been done with this latest version of Jane Eyre had the director just dedicated another...let's say two hours to it. Thanks for the reviews._

_**Alice:** Oh, I know! It's so much fun getting to this point. :)_

_**Delight:** What a delight it was to read your review. (Don't groan. I couldn't resist.) But seriously, your words were so kind, and your praise so generous. I hope your eyes are feeling better after reading for so long. And don't worry, this tale goes on for several more chapters. As a matter of fact, I'm still working on a few more. Can't get enough of Jane and Edward, I guess. Again, thank you._

* * *

_Chapter 31: Who is it?_

_Rochester's POV_

I had passed three weary nights. Sleep completely eluded me, and the idea of slumber no longer held any appeal. All I thought, saw, and dreamt was of Jane, and I had long believed her dead.

Nightly prayers had become my ritual and saving grace. Slowly I began to see what I could not, rather would not see before: the error of my ways. How could I have been so immoral? How could I have wanted Jane to risk and probably lose all for me? That was beyond love; that was control. Life had denied me control of my circumstances, had wronged me of my choices. How could I have tried to do the same to her? Jane truly was the stronger being.

I presently sat in my chilled and drafty parlor. Outside was no better. I had stirred outdoors earlier that evening and a cool air and steady rain prevailed. Nothing mattered. If the fire died out so much the better; the darkness would match my mood.

Unable to find Jane despite my earnest inquiries and feverish pleas, I imagined her well in everlasting grace. The nature of my petitions to the Almighty altered as well. I no longer asked Him to return Jane to me, but for me to join Jane in the next world. Equals. As we were.

Mary's heavy footsteps as she entered the room broke my gloomy reverie.

"Yes, Mary?"

"If you please, sir, you have a – a visitor." Mary's voice, though calm held a nervous edge.

"Who is it?" I inquired more of habit than concern. I never admitted any caller entrance.

"The visitor did not say."

I huffed. "What is the nature of the visit?"

"Er – social call, I think, to see how you fare. I am not quite certain." There was a tremble in her words. I sensed Mary knew more than she cared to say, but I also knew she startled easily. Not in the mood to entertain nonsensical whims or obtrusive travelers, I dismissed her jitters and the visitor.

"Get his name and have him state the nature of his business, but tell him I will not see him."

"Yes, sir."

"And fetch me a glass of water and some candles." I would need the flickering flames once my waning fire extinguished.

"Yes, sir."

She lumbered away and I was left alone once more with my depressed thoughts. So engaged was I in my negative musings I failed to notice Mary tarried in bringing the water, and when she did arrive I thought nothing of her now light steps.

I did, however, notice when Pilot yelped with glee.

"Down, Pilot," whispered Mary or who I assumed was Mary – but it sounded so much like... Damn! It was not nighttime and already I heard things.

She handed me the glass, the rim and side of it rather wet as if the liquid had spilt over. There was less water than anticipated in the cup. Kind Mary was ready to wipe my mouth, but it was done with so much delicacy and care. How I longed it to be someone else! Pilot still panted with excitement.

Blind as I was, I began to sense something amiss. The air in the room felt quite different, charged almost. Mary must have noticed it too. I heard her rapid, small exhales as if she tried to still herself. But Mary was a heavy breather, nothing about her was what one would describe delicate.

It was then I remembered I had a visitor. Who had called upon us? It dawned on me that this might not be Mary at all.

"Mary, this is you, is it not?"

"Mary is in the kitchen, sir," responded a voice I knew too well.

No! It could not be! Immediately my hand reached out, but all I grasped was air.

"Who is this?"

"I'm sorry, sir. Would you like a little more water? I spilt half of what was in the glass. I was so nervous." I heard more water being poured into the cup.

"Damn the water!" I yelled. "_Who_ – _what_ is this? Is it only a voice? Be perceptible to my touch!" Gone was my sullen tone. I was officious once more. This had to be a dream, but I was awake!

"Pilot knows me," the infuriating tone continued speaking. "I am only returned this evening." A smile was heard behind the words. She teased me as only she knew how.

"Good God! What madness is this! What delusion has come over me?"

She laughed – and cried. I could hear it. "No madness, sir. You have a strong, sound mind. I am sorry to give you such a shock. I did not know what easier way to announce myself. Did I come at a bad time?"

No more words. I did not want words. I rose from my chair and reached out. My hand struck something. My God, it was her hand!

"Her fingers! I know them anywhere." I pulled my hand from hers and reached for her wrist – her arm – her shoulder. I did what I had nightly in my dreams for the course of a year. I gathered her to me and did not wish to let go.

"This is her form. She is here." I could scarcely believe it.

"Yes, I am here, and my heart, too. God bless you, sir."

"Jane Eyre. Jane Eyre." I inhaled her, nuzzled my face to her head. She lifted her face and kissed me.

_She_ kissed _me_.

This had to be a dream, but the tears running down my face felt real.

"This cannot be!" I sobbed. "I cannot be so blessed, not after all this time. This is just another one of my dreams, another fancy where I hold Jane like so, and kiss her, like so." I gave her a deep and sensual kiss. A small moan of emotion escaped me. "Oh, Jane."

"You hold me fast enough, don't you? I am not a corpse or vacant like air."

"But my visions say the same thing, and I awake alone and desolate. Gentle, soft dream, embrace me before you go. Kiss me, Jane."

She did, but not on the lips. She kissed my closed lids, swept the hair from my brow and kissed me there, too. I roused under her gentle caresses believing at last. I was certain this joy would stop my heart.

"Jane," I cried, grasping her tightly, "you are come back to me then?"

"I am."

"And you are not dead lying in some ditch or stream, an outcast amongst strangers?"

I heard a sniffle and felt her shift in my embrace, perhaps seeking air as I strained her so tightly to me. "No, no, sir. I am neither dead nor an outcast, but rather a rich woman. An independent woman."

"Rich! What do you mean?"

"My uncle died and left me five thousand pounds."

"Now that is practical!" I cried in wonder. Here I had spent months lamenting Jane's fortune when God had sought to bless her in abundance. A suspicion crossed my mind, a concern I had never dared utter aloud.

"Now that you are rich you must have-" I could not bring myself to say the word "suitors" – "friends who will look after you and not suffer to the blind and lame."

She chuckled. "I told you, I am my own Mistress. If I choose to serve a leper in the remotest corner of the Earth that is my own affair."

"Oh, how I have missed your peculiar voice, so animating, so piquant. It cheers my withered heart and puts life in it. You will stay with me?"

"Yes, sir. I will be your neighbor, your nurse, your housekeeper…."

As she continued listing the ways she would aid me, my rapturous spirit subdued. I loved this woman more than life itself. I did not want her to be a servant to me. I wanted her to love me, live with me, and unite herself to me for the rest of our days. How could I express that to her?

While I meditated over this and struggled for the words, I felt Jane try to withdraw from my arms. No! I eagerly snatched her closer.

"No, no, Jane, you must not go. No, I have felt you once more. You have touched the well spring of my sentiments. I have little left in me. I must have you."

"Very well, sir. I will stay. I have told you." Her voice was so soft, so soothing, but doubt decorated its gentle ring.

"You mean one thing by staying and I mean another. Your generous heart will make it no burden, I'm sure, to wait on me hand and foot. Should I content myself with that? Should I entertain nothing more than fatherly feelings?" It would not suffice. It would not. Joyous was I have Jane in my arms once more, but heartbroken. Things had changed so drastically. Jane was independent. What need had she of me? "Come, Jane, tell me." I could not help order from her as she remained silent, probably desirous to leave.

"I will think what you like, sir." Jane still retained her knack for formulaic responses. It was most irksome.

"No. Consider. You are young, Jane. You cannot devote yourself to me in such a manner. You must marry some day."

"I don't care about being married," the stubborn elf replied.

What torture her language was!

"You should care, Janet. I should try to make you care, but I am nothing more than a sightless block!" I could only imagine how horrid I looked to her.

Her next words were unexpected. "It is time someone took to rehumanize you." I felt her fingers run through my hair. Her tone lightened and flowed easily. Something had cheered her. I knew not what. Here I suffered and she sought to improve me looks – as if they could improve. Had she not once told me, albeit jestingly, that any aid to my exterior, "would be past the power of magic"? Now she thought some shears to my hair and ointment to my brow would make everything better? Well, how would she fix this?

I showed her my mutilated hand. "It is a ghastly sight, is it not?"

"It is a pity to see," she spoke softly, soothingly, pressing her hand to my missing one. "And a pity to see your eyes and a pity to see the scar of fire on your head."

Her pity was balm to my wounds; her touch the healing I longed for. But I felt so – uncertain. Vain as I once may have been, I always recognized my physical shortcomings. I was never what one would describe as handsome, and well had I Jane to remind me of that; my pride suffered not a smidgen for her honesty.

Now…I had nothing left. She was exalted; I was debased. She was lifted, I reduced. If she should leave me again I would never recover.

"Jane, I thought you would be revolted at the sight of me." I marveled at her calm reflections.

"Did you now? Speak no more of it, lest I should say something disparaging to your judgment." Was that repressed glee in her voice? Yes. She teased without apology. Ah, my fairy.

She shifted in my arms once more. "Now, sir, let me leave you for just a moment. I am going to sweep the hearth and make a better fire. This room is cold."

If it was as she declared, I could not tell. All I felt was the heat she stirred within me.

"When do you take supper?" she suddenly asked.

"I never take supper." It was true. I survived on morsels, but no meals as I had in Thornfield.

"Well, you shall take some tonight. I've traveled for days and am hungry. I'm sure you are too, but I daresay have forgotten." What light playfulness was expressed in her tone! All I hungered was for her, and I did not know if ever I could be satisfied from the desire.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

I had never been entertained in that dark, cool room, but Jane's animating spirit revived and chased away all shadows.

My natural curiosity and concern for her mysterious whereabouts led me to fire a barrage of questions which she only half answered much to my great irritation. She sought to protect, knew my deep scars had just begun to heal. To speak too honestly, too openly would hurt me more. She did not understand that now she was returned, no other knowledge could wound me thus. No, that was a falsehood. One thing would cut me keenly, if Jane no longer wished to be my wife.

If silence fell between us I would grow restless and immediately reach out to touch her. I still remained uncertain of her substantiality.

"Jane, you are altogether a human being? You are certain of that?"

I could hear the laugh - and love - in her voice. "I believe so, Mr. Rochester."

"Yet how in this dark and doleful evening could you so magically appear at my very door. I stretched out my hand to receive a glass of water and find you bring it to my lips. I call out to Mary in confusion and my ears are greeted to your melodious tones."

"Because I convinced Mary to let me come in in her stead. Initially, my plan concerned her, but eventually she relented."

"And what enchantment there is in this meeting!" I clasped her hand yet again. "Jane, you do not know how the days have dragged by without you. I longed for you more than the restoration of my sight." I pressed her hand to my chest. Right or wrong for me to do so, I cared not. I wanted to know that she would stay with me forever, not disappear once more in the dead of night.

"Jane, do you love me?"

"With my whole heart, sir," came the prompt response.

"But do you love me enough to stay with me? Tomorrow I may not find you." My heart began to ache at the idea.

She did not respond directly to my comment instead I felt her soft cool finger trace my brow. The simple touch weakened me and I gave myself over to her tender, tiny caress.

"Your brows are scorched, sir. Tomorrow, I will apply an ointment to make them thick again."

Arresting her small finger in my hand, I could not resist pulling her onto my lap. I had missed her so thoroughly. It was imperative she understood how much I loved her.

"What does it matter if I were transformed to an Adonis if you will leave me without a moment's notice?"

I could feel her face near mine. My angel was so good as to drop a genial kiss atop my heavy head. Afterwards, she began to play with my locks.

"Have you a pocket comb about you, sir?"

"What for, Jane?" What an impish creature my Jane was, trying to change the subject – with success, I might add.

"I need to comb out this shaggy black mane of yours. I find you rather alarming at so close a proximity."

I handed her my comb and felt her slip away from my lap. I heard the rustle of her fabric as she positioned herself behind me and contented herself with "beautifying" me.

Wallowing in my self-pity I asked, "Am I hideous, Jane?"

"Very, sir," she answered without a moment's consideration. "You always were, you know."

I laughed delightfully. This witch knew how to charm me. "Your wickedness has not left, wherever you've been."

"Oh, I have been with good people, a hundred times better than you. People whose ideas and existence you could not even begin to measure up to." There she was, mocking me again, that little bit of glee ever present in her voice.

"Who the deuce have you been with?" I turned my head in her direction as if I could see her.

I heard her huff as she straightened my head forward.

"If you twist your head in that way, you will cause me to rip your hair out, and that, perhaps, may prove I am not a ghost. Hmm, now that I consider the matter, perhaps that is not so bad an idea. Do it again, sir."

I ignored her request or her attempts at evading my question. I reached for her small hand and gently tugged her back toward me.

"Who have you been with, Jane?"

I could feel her fuss with my jacket's pockets as she returned the comb to its place. "You will not get it out of me tonight, sir. I am tired. I need a good night's rest before I can engage your interest with the past year's adventures. Besides, to leave the tale half told will serve as a guarantee that you did not dream any of this. By the by, I must remember to arrive with more than just water. I'm certain you would not object to my bringing eggs. Fried ham does sound rather appealing, does it not, sir?"

Again I laughed. "Oh, Jane. How you make me feel – vivacious and youthful. If Saul could have had you as his David he would have known nothing more of torment. You would have exorcised that demon long ago."

I did not receive a response in words, but the feel of her lips on my cheek. I turned my face and made her return another kiss on my lips. She readily obliged.

"Good-night, sir."

I reached for her again, but she moved away with startling alacrity. "Jane, just one more thing. Were there only ladies in the house?"

The tinkling sound of her laughter filled the room. It carried out into the hall. I realized she had left without responding. Sitting back, I let out a sigh which revealed both my contentment and frustration. Glad I was to have her returned, but I needed her with me – by my side. She should not be going to bed alone. Nearness was not enough; oneness was the answer.


	32. Chapter 32

_**Alice:** Thank you! That's the beauty of fanfiction, the liberty to alter circumstances and sometimes characters a bit to meet our more romantic needs. :)_

_**Delight:** I will stay away from all bad puns, ;) . Thank you for your kind review. I feel the way you do about all things Bronte._

_**Bonbonnett:** I believe that Jane was so thrilled and at ease to be back with Rochester, (he's her element, you know), that she giggled and laughed often. Thank you for your review._

_**brontefan:** Glad you enjoyed!_

_**CoB:** I'm trying to get a really angle here on the love and passion between these two. There's a later chapter, and I'm not sure if I should post it and up the rating or just skip it. But we'll put that to vote later. :)_

_**Mere:** That's a great question. Honestly, I don't think he slept a wink that night either. )_

_**dress:** Sometimes we need to get away where there's no internet! Brings us back to simpler times. Thank you for reading and reviewing._

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_Chapter 32: Questions Answered_

_Jane's POV_

I awoke to the sounds of wandering feet, the hesitant shuffle of shoe against wood stirring below stairs. Mr. Rochester, no doubt, was up and about wandering from room to room, restless.

All suspicions were confirmed when I heard the sound of his voice making inquiries to Mary who had just descended the stairs. "Is Miss Eyre still here?" I was sure he held his breath awaiting the answer.

"Yes, sir," Mary responded.

"Which room did you put her into?"

"In the-"

"Was it dry?"

"Why, yes, s-"

"Is she awake?"

"Well, now, I-"

"Go ask if she wants anything and when she will come down."

Ah, my master, alas, my master no longer, (old habits are often hard to break), as impatient as ever. I could hear Mary ascend the stairs and lightly rap on my door. Throwing my shawl about my shoulders, I opened the panel and answered before she could repeat Edward's inquiries.

"Good morning, Mary. Tell Mr. Rochester I shall be down when breakfast is almost ready." I flashed her a knowing smile.

She laughed in turn and went to relay my message. Glad was I Mary and I were friends; any other servant may have resented my presence and been jealous of the way I occupied Mr. Rochester's every thought.

Once dressed and properly arranged I treaded downstairs and into the dining room softly. Edward had yet to discover my presence. He sat in his chair, still, but expectant. With a continual turn of his head to the door, I supposed he tried to catch the sounds of my steps or the tone of my voice.

It was the expression in his physiognomy that cut my core. Every lineament told of his sadness, every feature of the suffering he had undergone. There was hope; he would recover, but it was not by his own strength or will. He needed someone to assist him with that metamorphosis from despair to happiness. He needed me.

Taking a quiet breath I called out to him from across the room. "Good morning, sir. It is a bright and fair day. All the rain is past. You shall soon have a walk, for I am not inclined to stay indoors and waste this bright day – though perhaps it is not quite as spell binding as when sunset meets moonshine." I repeated the very words he had used that fateful night in his garden. Now, it was my turn to tease.

His dormant glow wakened; his features radiated with warmth, happiness and love. The transformation was startling.

"Oh, you are there my skylark! Come to me. Words cannot express how glad I am you have not vanished. I heard one of your kind singing to bid welcome to the new morn, but its song held little appeal. The Earth's melody is held in your tongue alone. The sunshine is your presence."

I paused to hear such honest expression. Beautiful as it was, the words momentarily overwhelmed. My master who had never depended on anyone now needed me for the simplest pleasures. Determined was I that nothing would pain him this day. He needed strength and support.

"Well, sir, I am apt to do plenty of talking. We've a year's worth of conversation to catch up." With a light stride, I crossed to room, bending before him to plant a chaste peck on his cheek. It did not suffice, for he immediately snatched me to seal his lips over mine. It was an intense kiss, one that left me panting for air.

"Forgive me, Jane. I…"

"No need for apologies," I said airily, glad he could not see my trembling form, but there was no denying he felt it. "I was only caught off guard. Now, sir, let me assist in preparing breakfast. From such displays as that, I gather we both need our energy."

He laughed and released me.

Not long after we had breakfasted (on eggs and fried ham) we ventured outdoors. Fernandean's remote location positioned in the middle of wild wood made it difficult to find a place to rest, but after walking for about an hour, we came across an open field.

I led him to a seat that was nothing more than a dry stump of a tree. I meant to sit on the grass next to him, but no sooner had I turned when he clasped my waist and sat me upon his lap. We maintained our positions in silence for several moments; then he suddenly cried out.

"Cruel deserter! Jane, how could you leave me so? You have no idea how much I suffered at discovering your flight, and knowing you had thrown yourself out to the mercy of the cold world without friends, without money. What did my Janet do? I want to know it all."

So much for attempting to keep him free from melancholy. "Well, sir, I spent a few days wandering. People are distrustful. I was able to eat, even if only a few discarded morsels. I learned what true dependency on God was."

"You are still giving evasive answers. I am sure you suffered more than you wish to admit."

"Whatever my sufferings, they were short. God saw fit to lead me to the Rivers family."

"The Rivers?"

"Yes. A curate, St. John, and his two sisters, Diana and Mary. Very lovely and lively young ladies."

I then went on to tell him the rest of the tale. How I kept myself busy, the cottage I resided in, and the discovery of my fortune.

"St. John was the one who informed me of the inheritance left to me by my uncle."

"Mr. Rivers? What the deuce had he to do with any of this? And exactly how often did he visit you at that cottage?" The hand clasping my waist tightened its hold as though I were poised to slip from his lap. With a slight twist of my body, I hoped to convey my discomfort. My movement only resulted in a firmer press from him.

"St. John is my cousin, and he came to the cottage quite often."

"Your cousin? What Jane? You mean to tell me you've discovered kin?"

"Yes, sir. I've found family I never knew existed. It was a wonderful moment."

A strange silence fell between us as my former master paused in his questions. Turning to glance at his features I found him pensive. I could not make it out.

"So, this St. John, your cousin who came to the cottage quite often," he began after some time. "Did you like him?"

"He was a good man. He won my liking." That certainly was the honest truth.

"A good man? What? Was he a fatherly or grandfatherly type man who doted on you with paternal kindness?"

The question, comical in nature – comical to me at least – elicited a small laugh. Oh, if only Edward could meet St. John. How he would laugh at his assumption.

Except Edward did not laugh. He looked most displeased. I checked all further titters and answered his question. "He is a young man of nine and twenty, sir."

The topic of St. John apparently interested and simultaneously sickened him, and after several more questions regarding my opinions of my newly discovered cousin, even some regarding his appearance, it struck me the reason for the cross-examination.

Edward was jealous! Oh, the absurdity of it all, for true passion to undergo menace by cold indifference. And yet a small part of me savored the sting in his heart for it served to remove some of his melancholy and former gloom. But reader, I did not solely take his sentiments into consideration. My own were extremely gratified by this. I recalled Edward's games with my affections in a not-too-distant past, when he had so thoroughly convinced me of his understanding with Miss Ingram. His deception – for there was no other term – had been based on insecurity. Mine was more benevolent. I sought to bring Edward some measure of release and comfort, in a strange, stinging way, I admit. But it felt good to know I was so wholly desired.

"I assume you must be anxious to leave now," was his next embittered remark.

"And why would I want to do that?" was my oh-so-coy response.

"Since you seem oblivious to the picture presented, allow me to tell you what I see. There are two gentlemen, if you would allow me the liberty to address myself as such, two gentlemen with characters and characteristics quite opposite the one from the other."

I assessed his words. He was quite right. Two more dissimilar creatures than Mr. Rochester and Mr. Rivers could not be found. Even their reasons for wishing to marry me were distinct.

"Well, sir, you're going to have to push me off your lap for I'll not leave you of my own accord."

He smiled; though he issued the order to leave, he clasped me even tighter.

"Jane, your voice inspires, fills one with courage, but alas, I am no fool. He loves you, and I'm sure you love him."

"Loves me!" I ejaculated in disbelief, and unjustly, for Edward had not yet heard the particulars of St. John's proposal. "I know what love is, and St. John does not even come close to feeling anything such for me – nor I for him. I-" my voice faltered, but I succeeded in going forth with the words. "There is only one man I could ever love."

His strong hand reached for my chin and turned me to face him. His sightless eyes searched my features to no avail. I prayed he could feel my ardor and hear the sincerity of my words.

"What, Jane? Is this truly the matter between us?"

"Oh, sir. If you could _see_ how much I loved you, you would be so proud. St. John," I shuddered recollecting my cousin's words, "St. John saw me a useful tool, much like a hammer or a tapered candle. Perhaps he thought I could be his favorite instrument. I was good for the ministry, but his heart was solely reserved for God. I had no claim, nor did I desire it. I love you and you alone. St. John's marriage proposal was most vexing. More so than yours."

Mr. Rochester laughed. "Now was it really?"

"Oh, yes. I readily told him so. More than once, I might add."

Mr. Rochester laughed again, the pressed me to him. Greedy kisses stole my breath away, but I did not fight them. On the contrary, I reciprocated every caress. No man had ever loved me as much or ever would. I would never love another as I loved my Edward.


	33. Chapter 33

_Thank you **bonbonnett** and **dress4m** for you kind reviews. I do believe the teasing is part of their loving relationship. _

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_Chapter 33: The Newlyweds_

_Rochester's POV_

The day I had dreamt of for a year and many months finally occurred. Jane and I were to wed.

She told me she wore one of her best frocks recently purchased; its color ivory; its trimmings lace. I had felt the length of its fabric on her arms, smooth and cool against my palms. Continuing my scrutiny of the gown, I deciphered it hugged her slender waist.

My fingers brushed against a row of small buttons on her back. I hastily pulled my hand back, my breath suddenly catching at my throat. Images flashed through my mind, impure thoughts – ones that I had given solace to when alone in my room at night. Dreams that since my Jane's return had increased in passion ten-fold. I felt the familiar fire rush to my loins; heat raced to my lineaments. Though still innocent, I was sure Jane could read the ardor and longing displayed on my countenance. I heard her laughter as she reached for the limb I had just jerked away.

"I'm sorry if the dress is not to your liking, Mr. Rochester."

"Jane," I began to protest her formal use of my name much as I had the last two days, but my breathing had yet to steady.

"Soon," was her quiet counter. I was not sure to what that one word referred to: whether her calling me by my name or to what would befall that evening.

There was no whirlwind honeymoon, no globe trotting adventures as I had once wanted to whisk Jane away to. Our travels would go no further than Fernandean, our explorations occurring in the room I presently called my own, the one I had spent so many lonely, countless nights, wondering, waiting with bleeding heart.

Bleeding heart no longer. My severed chord with Jane was now mended.

"I, Jane Eyre, take thee, Edward Fairfax Rochester as my lawfully wedded husband…."

Dear God, if the words from her lips did not inspire the greatest emotions to overwhelm. I wished to see her gaze upon mine as she spoke the words, that gaze I knew so well, both timid and bold, trained to hold more than my eyes. She held my heart.

"I promise to love and to cherish, to support and comfort, to honor him above all others from this day forward, til death do us part."

Could death truly part us? It seemed this love could cross beyond time and space unto eternity.

My large hand fumbled for the ring. The golden circlet felt so fragile in my slick, unsteady palm. Jane aided me.

"With this ring," I spoke, "I thee wed."

Jane swiftly followed suit, slipping a slender hand upon my own. The words I had longed to hear for so long – I praised my Maker I could still hear – were uttered by the minister.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. Mr. Rochester, you may kiss your young-"

But I did not wait for him to finish. Jane had long since been pulled into my embrace experiencing the longing of my kiss.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

"Mary, Mr. Rochester and I were wed this morning." I heard, my wife, Jane, inform the good lady upon our return from the church. "Here is a note for both you and John."

"Well, now, thank you, miss. I mean, Mistress. Congratulations to both you and the Master."

Jane returned to the living room shortly thereafter handing me a cup of tea.

"Tell me, Mr. Rochester-"

"Jane-" my voice held serious warning though I knew she only spoke in her customary manner to vex me.

"Mr. Rochester-" she repeated over me. "How does it feel to be a married man…again?" She laughed jovially.

Blind or not, I put down my tea cup and pulled her into my lap. She shrieked at the sudden and unexpected attack.

"You wicked girl. It is not right to tease a man my age just so."

"Mr. Rochester," she continued, seemingly loving the angry expression I'm sure my face bore, "you make yourself sound as though you were a man of three and eighty and not thirty-eight." Her voice suddenly grew soft and husky as I felt her fingers wind into my hair. It was just like in my countless dreams.

Except this time it was real. And she was all mine.

I ceased her ministrations on my head and arrested her wandering hands in my own. "Jane." My voice had grown husky in turn. I prayed for the hours to fly and for daylight to fade to its darker, more secretive sister. "You make me feel like a man reborn. I feel…regenerated."

"Do you now?" she was coy once more. "And tell me about this regeneration."

I turned her to face me. Though I could not see her visage, only her silhouette, I imagined the expression her face held. "It is a wholeness unlike any other. Such peace is here," I placed a hand to my head, "and here." I then pulled her hand over my heart.

"I see." Suddenly my shy little school girl brought her lips near mine. I could feel the nearness of her, but she did not kiss me. "How amazing that a few words at the altar and a shiny new ring on your finger could cause such inspiring sentiments." She began to play with my cravat. Her nimble fingers winding underneath the fabric, searching for….

"Jane, I warned you about teasing me so," I groaned when she moved beyond the fabric and found my skin. "Becoming a married woman has done nothing to temper your wickedness."

The stroking at my neck halted and she bolted out of my lap. "I warned you, Mr. Rochester, that I had many faults. You chose to ignore my warnings, and must now live with the consequences of your choice."

I stood abruptly and pursued her. Luckily for me, she was not far and did not evade me, for Jane was as nimble as she was little, and could move with alarming speed. "This is a consequence I could gladly have more of. Now, _my little wife_, there is something I've been meaning to give you." Pulling her to me, I gave her a quick swat on the bottom. Her giggles and shrieks, mingled with my own deep laughter, surely must have startled Mary. However, I'm certain the sounds were a welcome change to the melancholy sighs and silence that had dominated in recent months past.

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_**AN:** The next chapter is not suitable for all audiences, and I don't know whether to post it here and therefore up the rating, or just skip it. (The story works without chapter **34** plot-wise. Really.) Let me know. Thanks._

**_ETA: _**_I wrote 24 instead of 34 of my author's note, but I see everyone understood me regardless. :) PS, thank you for the feedback._


	34. Chapter 34

**_Thank you all for your enthusiasm, insight, and feedback. Rhubarbsmom, brontefan, Commander, Bonbonnett, call2wrshp, Lady Vamp, listenwhisper, dress4m, "reader", vanilfrappe, sash queen of the jungle (very interesting handle, btw), thank you for taking the time to give a review and a vote of sorts. Here's to you all._**

**_Warning: chapter is not appropriate for minors and anyone else who doesn't like to read about this sort of thing._**

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_Chapter 34: Love Between Man and Wife_

_Jane's POV_

I had teased and laughed at my Edward all day refusing to call him by his Christian name, ignoring the deep well of emotions he shared with me and using sly remarks to turn the conversation. I wanted him provoked instead of dulled with romance. I could not fully explain the reason for my actions, though I suppose it my way of disguising and drowning the fear of what awaited that night.

Do not misunderstand me, dear reader. I looked forward to uniting with Edward, of having us unite with the fullness of love, but I was completely inexperienced as to what exactly that entailed. He was a most practiced lover, and at present had nothing but the highest expectations of what would occur. I feared I would disappoint, and that possibility was sobering if not chilling.

Instead of sharing these concerns, I covered it up with what he termed, "complete devilry." In hindsight, I think I added fuel to his fire instead of quelling it with humor – or anger, for I touched him as much as I dared, then ran away. He thought this highly provoking, but he meant it in a different sense, something I was not fully aware of, and promised the fullness of revenge that evening in_ our_ bedchamber.

I presently readied myself in an adjoining room, gazing at myself in the mirror. Expectation brought color and bloom to my features, and my loosened locks shined lustrously, but it was my eyes that held a different gleam; while I was prone to think it terror, I believe they sparkled with excitement and something else, heady expectation perhaps.

What would it be like to cross that threshold from youth to womanhood? Mrs. Fairfax had told me a year past what the experience would resemble. From her lips, it sounded an unpleasant thing. I should expect rips, tears, and bleeding. She mentioned men garnering greater enjoyment from the activity than women, and she hoped, for my sake, Mr. Rochester was patient and gentle. After all, I was so little... She refused to say anything more.

I could hear Edward's anxious shuffles near the door as he approached then moved away. His impatience would soon get the better of him. If I did not show myself he would come and fetch me. After running an unsteady hand through my hair, and exhaling several times, I opened the door and walked into the room.

My husband instantly quitted his anxious pace about the floor and shifted in my direction. "You come out at last." There was a bit of reproach in his tone. "You always did like to linger." Stretching out his hand I quietly filled it with my own; I was somewhat mortified to discover it cold and clammy.

He pulled me into his embrace feeling the fabric of my thin nightgown. The results were immediate; his face flushed and the pupils of his unseeing eyes dilated. I trembled at the reaction.

"Are you nervous, Jane?"

"Very, sir." Oh my. The habitual tag slipped easily off my tongue. Would he be angry that in a moment of present pleasure and intimacy, I referred to him as my superior?

Instead, the response met with exceeding kindness. "You have nothing to fear. I will prove to be a patient lover, Jane. Your comfort and enjoyment is foremost."

Recalling Mrs. Fairfax's words, Edward's brought a sense of relief to the rising apprehension. Soothed, I smiled. He, however, frowned. It was then I realized he could not see my expression. I quickly brought his hand to my face so he could feel the warm expression, then I brought the hand to my lips.

The simple action roused him, or rather _aroused._ He lifted my face to his and stole my breath with a searing kiss. I had never been kissed so thoroughly. It was if he had waited an eternity for just that act. His lips strong and assertive, they encouraged me to part my own, and I willfully obeyed. The slickness of his tongue invaded my inviting mouth. My eyes widened at the muscle's vivacity, but not only did I welcome its entrance, I reciprocated the action. I'm sure my attempts were clumsy and awkward, but whatever I did met with murmurs of approval.

"Oh, Jane," he cooed when we momentarily parted for breath. His hands wandered and sought places that until that moment were considered prohibited. The stroke of his fingers around the swell of my hip and center of my breasts released strange little breaths and murmurs of delight. I had not known I was capable of such reactions until put to the test.

"Edward," I breathed in turn.

As simple as the action was, it produced great excitement from him. He suddenly crushed me to his form and lifted me off my feet, bidding my legs to cling vigorously to either side of him lest he suddenly drop me, but that he would not. He held me secure in his strong arms, even with the loss of his hand. A few shuffles and we were at the bed.

His lips still over mine, I felt his hand trying hard to undo the laces that held my gown. "Jane," he murmured in a plea, never removing his mouth from mine.

I returned his kiss and then placed a hand between us to indicate the necessity of space-if for but a moment. "After all, sir, you did speak of patience," I could not help but tease, though inwardly I was all aflutter. Slowly, I undid the ties of my nightgown and slipped it from each shoulder. Only my undergarments covered that most modest sacred area revealed to another for such an occasion.

Part of me felt a small measure of relief in his sightlessness. Was that selfish of me? I had never revealed my body and flesh to anyone. I never bothered with self-assessment, but knew men preferred the buxom, the shapely, the ample; everything I was not. Small, slight, child-like, I was only too aware my body was not the ideal, not the one that evoked the famed poets to write sonnets, nor the type the artists based their inspirations after. But God had not created my body for the masses to adore. He ordained that only one man should know me in every sense of the word.

Edward waited with eager arms to lay his one good hand over my slim form.

"Do not expect too much from me," I could not help but laugh, his expression reminding of a school boy awaiting to see his long, sought-after gift.

"My most precious love, you cannot begin to imagine how long I've waited this moment. My only expectation, darling Janet, is to give you the fullness of my love and adoration."

At once, water sprung to my eyes held in check by a succession of rapid blinks. No one would ever love me as this man did. I would never love anyone as I did him. And that knowledge dissipated the remnants of my fear and stoked the fire of longing and passion.

One kiss intermingled with the next, until it seemed Edward and I existed only for the taste of each other. As my mouth familiarized itself with the savor of my husband, I grew bolder, moving away from his lips to kiss his cheeks, his chin, his sightless eyes, his ears, the hollow of his throat. All the while his hands coasted and glided throughout my form. He seemed to take great pleasure in fondling my breasts, though of the two, I think I derived the greater benefit from the action.

My lower muscles began to contract as a result of my husband's attention, and without knowing quite how I began to move against him, my pelvis arching toward his still seated form. I could feel him stiff and hard against my heated center. He seemed to realize that too, for suddenly he pulled at his nightgown as if it suffocated him.

Quickly, I aided him in his quest to free himself from the restraints of the clothing, and afterwards I finished removing my final barriers. When I gazed up once more, I paused to give his body a lasting glance. I had never seen the male anatomy stripped of its garments. Edward was simply breathtaking.

"Jane...," he inquired with a nervous edge in his voice.

I only shook my head, staring a little longer, my hand going forth to reach for that mysterious member protruding from him. I grabbed the flesh at its base, marveling when it twitched in my hands. _And this will go inside me? How will he accomplish that feat?_ I then allowed my fingers to travel slowly upwards, delighting in my husband's hiss and moan. Soon enough my exploration ceased, and Edward pulled me onto his lap, our naked bodies thoroughly heated and enticed. The scent of want filled the room, intoxicated the senses.

"No. I will not let you undo me. Not yet," he explained before bringing his mouth to my body, loving me in a manner I never had imagined.

Edward feasted on my small mounds, taking his time sampling each one. The slow turn of his tongue against my pink bud caused me to grasp at his head, encouraging him to continue his attentions. He appeased by lapping the underside of my breasts, nibbling between them until the hardness of my bosom made me moan for more. Without meaning to, or even realizing I did, I began to wriggle above him, thrusting myself to him. There was just such an ache prevalent there, I had to do _something_ to ease.

"My darling Janet. My beautiful wife." Grasping my back with his massive hands, he lay me down upon the bed as he crawled atop. I could feel the girth of his hardened mass above me, but he laid himself with care. After several more longing kisses, he worried at my neck and throat, his fingers taking their time to coast up and down my ribcage, over my fluttering belly, and lower...lower still...

"Oh, Edward!" I panted when he found his target. He played with the soft mound of curls resting atop before pushing his pointer finger inside. My reaction was immediate, my walls clenching and contracting around his warm and intrusive finger as he began a pumping motion. My pelvis jumped towards his hand seemingly liking the slow, but insistent rhythm his finger moved to.

Hisses, little moans followed, all of which I tried to stifle by biting my lip or even pressing a hand over my mouth. My husband would not stand for such virginal behavior. He wanted to hear the cries of amour; he wanted to know what pleased me.

"Nothing could please me more than being here with you," I panted breathlessly.

"But there are different types of pleasures, Jane. And while I feel the same in just having you here beside me, I want you to experience all the joys a man can bring to his wife." Before I could speak another word, he moved away, leaving me to inquire where he was going until he nestled his head between my very legs.

"Edward!" I cried in shock just as my tiny mound felt the tingles produced from his hot breath. Imagine how much louder my voice grew when he used his tongue to probe. I nearly weeped; the sensations overwhelmed. When his lips nuzzled at my very hardened jewel, I made a motion to scuttle away. My legs shook with the force of his attentions. But Edward held me fast, each of his arms wrapped around each of my legs. I could only anchor my feet to his back and wriggle wantonly against his mouth. My hands busied themselves with fisting his hair. The pressure mounted. I burned. Until...until...until...

"Ohhhh!" Such a throaty cry escaped my lips I could scarcely believe I was its originator. Wetness seeped from that lower region, and I was mortified to hear the sound of suckling from my husband.

Dear me. No one had ever told me about _that!_ Certainly such pleasure had to be a sin.

"Edward?" I now creaked after my shakes and shivers momentarily subsided. My husband returned, wearing a self-satisfied smile across his dark face. He kissed me again, the taste of our mouths now decidedly different, tart almost. He had drank of my nectar and now wanted me to sample it in turn. I could scarcely get over the first shock.

Edward then shifted over me, and I knew the moment had come for consummation. Though he remained sightless, he gave me a long, searching look.

"It is all right, my love. I am not afraid." I stroked his hands in reassurance. He had granted me so much pleasure. Certainly a little pain would not mar the perfect evening.

"I love you, Jane." Edward crushed his mouth to mine as he slid within. Rather, tried to slide within. I was exceedingly tight, or so he told me, and it was after another grunt and great heave that he managed to break the barrier of my walls.

Tears at once stung my eyes. The width of my husband had been impressive outside. I could only imagine what it had done within. But as he had promised, Edward sought to give me time, to bring me some level of comfort despite the uncomfortable situation I was presently in.

"Are you all right, dearest?" There was so much concern in his voice, I swallowed my wails and quivers as best I could.

"Mm-hmm," was the best answer to give as I pressed a hand to my forehead, momentarily forgetting to breathe.

"It will get better," he murmured in turn, his voice dripping with regret. With his own exhale he pulled back a bit, moving in once more. He repeated the motion, again and again, until the sting began to fade. Slowly, slowly, we began to move together in an intimate dance. Even if it was not the earth-trembling moment I had fancied for myself (though truthfully, I had not known what to expect), it was beautiful in its own right. He was right. With time, we would perfect the art of our lovemaking and learn from one another.

We continued this gentle sort of sway until the captain took control of this little vessel and moved with greater certainty and security. The easier, more delicate pulsations were now a memory giving way to the steadier and more insistent push of his pelvis. With each strike, I felt a strange buzz of want overcome. I clung to my former master, now husband, as a woman in love could only do, hanging on in the excursion.

"Jane! Jane! Oh, Jane!" he cried thrice before stiffening like marble as did his shaft within. Then, I felt it. The seed of his manhood spilling. There was pulse after pulse rocking inside me. I'd never imagined...

"Oof!" I lost my breath when Edward collapsed over me. He had tried for so long to keep himself steady above, but that was not an easy feat with only one good hand. Edward apologized for what he termed, "a clumsy end" while I kissed and laughed at him all the while stroking his hair. The fullness of him within me was very intimate. Never had I felt so blessed, and even in the sensuality of it all I recognized God's perfect plan for what it was.


	35. Chapter 35

_**bonbonnet:** LOL. There is always something I miss in these chapters. I know "opening night" wasn't exactly the stuff dreams are made of, but I wanted to give it that sense of reality, as he's a blind-cripple and she's inexperienced. I think that detailed chapter was a one-shot. There are implications, but nothing more like that. Those kind of chapters take energy to write! Thanks for commenting._

_**brontefan:** Thank you for the cheer! More has arrived. :)_

_**Commander:** Thanks for the review. Glad you enjoyed, despite the pain. )_

_**Sash:** Thank you so much. It's funny because of the rest of the story is pretty squeaky clean, it almost seems like that chapter doesn't fit in. Thanks for sharing._

_**fshfan**: I enjoyed Dalton as Rochester as well, but I must say, I did enjoy Michael Fassbender's Rochester too. (Really didn't like William Hurt. As Rochester? Come on. My apologies if I offend anyone's sensibility with my opinion.) Thanks for sharing._

_OK, so moving right along. We now fast forward to 2 years later..._

* * *

_Chapter 35: The Apple of His Eye_

_(Rochester's POV)_

My first two years of married life with Janet were viewed through a cloudy haze. But how was it possible that amidst this perceptual darkness I found myself surrounded by light and love and overwhelming happiness?

My "honeymoon years" might have appeared to the casual onlooker too calm and complacent for the likes of me. Compared to the whirlwind life I was raised in, the contemptuous existence during the course of my first marriage, and the sham of a bachelor's life I lived shortly thereafter, my marriage to Jane appeared peaceful and much too wholesome. I, who travelled across the continent at a moment's whim, who bed more women than I cared to recollect, now living a domesticated and tame existence with a woman resembling an angel incarnate. I reveled in it.

Jane was my whole world. She completely captured the essence of the ideal helpmate. Like Eve to her Adam, Jane was all that was consistent with what a man could want in a wife, and unlike Eve, she never led me astray. Jane proved more than patient, kind, cheerful, loving, and to me she was the most exquisite beauty to walk the earth. Her gentle tones were melody to my ears, her light touch balm to my scars. Under her care, guidance, and attention my emotional pains ceased. My nightmares ended. I had no need to dream of my loving wife, for I lived and experienced the daily reality of her. My night's rest was now truly for repose, and when deprived of the activity I engaged in occupations all the sweeter.

I cherished the time spent alone with Jane. Sometimes we spoke not a word, just savored in the harmony of one another's presence. I would sit in my leather armchair while Jane would read, knit, sew, draw, or play the piano. I will not report that her ability in that regards graduated as to allow her performance of grand concertos, but her simple chords carried more force and fire than any of Mozart's or Beethoven's symphonies. I could listen to her play for hours.

The night belonged to us, free from the claims and duties of society. That was when I longed for the restoration of my sight, to behold my Janet with lover's eyes. But I never lamented the loss. God had given me so much, had blest me beyond measure. I would gladly live with my losses in exchange for the lifetime of present happiness Jane and I shared.

At present I could feel as she lay beside me, her small frame practically eclipsed in my embrace. I adored the symphony of her soft breaths in the still of the night, to imagine the stillness of her features as she slumbered. Her skin, as I ran a hand over it, I remembered, was white, ethereal; her tiny, plum-red lips so inviting. I traced her favorable mouth with my finger, delighted to discover it slightly parted as her muscles' control subsided in rest. My hands moved to her hair. Her crown of dark glory, molasses and timber wood darkening the otherwise glow of her person. How had I existed so long with the false and showy? This purity, this spiritual goodness that I could _feel_, expelled from her pores and cascaded over her mortal frame and left me forever transfixed, a willing captor of her divine lure. She made me whole. God bless her, she was the vessel that saved me.

And how did I reward this creature of light and love? You would think I would allow her the rest she most certainly deserved, but no... I was a redeemed person, yes, but not so much altered as you might think. I was still very much a man, complete, not half as I once viewed myself, and I roused my wife, for you see, without meaning to, she aroused me.

In a matter of minutes, and with some attention placed in the right places, Jane not only stirred but murmured her approbation, and yet she tried playing coy.

"Mr. Rochester, you would deny me a night's rest for _this_?" The little vixen excelled in the art of malicious teasing.

"Tell me you do not desire it as I do," I whispered into her ear before rubbing my lips to her neck, covering her with an abundance of kisses.

"You will have to discover that for yourself. I will not assist you," and I felt her escape my grasp, her small form slipping easily under the covers.

A smile at once broke over my lips. I would play her game and win. And she knew it.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

Bright sunlight poured into the cozy parlor; the warmth of the tawny rays heated my skin, and I reached my hand towards my cravat to loosen it a mite. Jane was presently out, visiting my former ward at the school she had enrolled her in. My loving wife had tried to care for Adele as her own, but because of my infirmities it had proved too great a task. She settled for instilling the young girl at a school fifteen miles from our proximity, visiting the lass when she had a moment's time.

Whilst Janet was away attending and amusing, I sat contently, listening to the trill of the birds from the open window, delighting in the finer feel of the day. The air smelt of sweetness, of shropshire lads and delphiniums in full bloom, of fern leaf beech trees from the abundant surrounding forest. Nature caroled happily all around, and I joined in its revelry by quietly praising God's handiwork.

Upon opening my eyes, I started. I expected nothing more than my darkened vision, but instead, I could make out the items in the room though something of a blur. At first I thought it my imagination, a trick of the mind. I closed my eyes and blinked once more, rubbing my fingers furiously over my eye and brow. It was to no avail. When I lifted my heavy lids, I recognized detail to my surroundings. I could see the mantelpiece by the fireplace, witnessed the small doilies adorning the coffee table, viewed the shine of the candelabras. It wasn't by any means a perfect visual acuteness, but it was enough. It was enough.

I leapt from the seat, walking around the room as if I had never been there before. I scrutinized objects, studied pieces, inspected items. Even my own hand held fascination as I gazed upon it, marveling at the shiny band resting on the fourth finger. Since I had lost my left hand, Jane had determined I should wear the ring on the right.

Now with true impatience did I await the return of my wife. It was not so much to share the news of my newly discovered sense of sight, but to use it. To see her. To behold the wonder of her gaze, to relive the beauty of her smiles, in short, to drink in her loveliness, but she tarried. That was Jane's way. In the moments I earnestly sought her, she made me wait. It was unjust for me to lay the blame at her charge - she had no knowledge of what had only transpired - but it was part of my former impetuosity to think unreasonably.

I reached for my watch chain, recollecting I no longer owned it. It was now on Jane's person, my gift to her the day following her return. All at once, I wanted to be outside, even if only at the yard's front gate. I felt it would bring me closer to Jane as I waited.

"Sir," I heard Mary call from the kitchen as I clamored noisily about the hall and out the front door. "Sir, would you rather not wait for John?"

I barely heard her, too busy was I practically tripping over my own two feet to get outdoors - on my own - for the first time in two years.

It was just past midday. I could tell from the way the sun was positioned practically overhead. To gaze upon that ball of yellow and red was not a difficult task. I could not see the way I once used to, but I could decipher its distinct gold and its hazy form. All at once, the world opened to me. I ambled towards the small garden and brushed my fingers against petals and pistils. Leaves held a surreal sort of fascination and grass a glorious form of awe. God's artistry was on display for me to behold. Just for me.

Call me selfish, chastise my egotistical ways, but the longer I viewed my surroundings, the greater my need to see Jane. But she would not be home til much later, I discerned by the sun and the chimes from the church bells yonder.

"Sir," I heard John call from behind. "Sir, are you all right?"

My manservant thought me a moody and desperate creature. This I knew from previous times when I was such. He now sought me with trepidation and concern. I closed my eyes, not wishing to see just anyone yet. I would wait for Jane. Lay my eyes on her first. To know for sure. To share with her. She was my soulmate. None other should be privileged with the knowledge she had should have first claim to.

"I am well, John. Do not pay mind to my fits. I would think you used to them by now."

"Aye, sir. I s'pose I should be. Ms. Jane may not take a fancy to your sittin' out here."

John was one of the few creatures on earth who could address my wife with such familiarity and not have his neck rung for it. "She will not mind in the least. I can handle her if it proves otherwise. You needn't concern yourself in that regards."

I could imagine John giving an exaggerated sort of shrug of surrender as he replied, "As you wish, sir." His retreating steps told of his defeat, not that he had come out with much hope of subduing in the first place. "Just take care where you step!" he called over his shoulder.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

The shadows drew long. My form was stiff and sore from sitting in that boulder for hours. Twice more did John come to draw me inside. Once, when he brought me my tea, and the second time at his wife's insistence. While thankful for Mary's helpful and efficient service, I was eternally grateful Jane was not the nagging sort.

Still, she remained a truant. Her return long overdue. Surely she would not come past dinner? That would be unheard of. Unless, of course, the company at the school was more pleasurable.

I believed in Jane's faithfulness as I believed in the rise and fall of the sun and the spin of the earth, but that was not to say that some man, some well-educated, handsome individual free of handicaps and impediments, would not try to make a push for her. Just because she was a married woman did not guarantee a thing. During my time of iniquitous travels, I had spent many a year witnessing such low behavior from knaves whose lust for life ran deeper than conscience. They knew who to prey on, and used any manner of artifice to get their end.

Jane was by no means a woman who flaunted her fortune. Even after inheriting her wealth, she remained true to her values, modesty and humility her primary attire, but there were changes to her appearance, most a result of my insistence. Gone were the restricting, foreboding braids from her Lowood and governess days. She put small curls in her hair held with silks and ribbons. Though I could not previously detect one hue from the next, I knew Jane's garbs of black, brown, and grey to be a thing of the past. She now wore color of demure intensity - that was how she described them to me; her gowns spoke life. They had more trimmings, lace, and bows - delicate, tasteful, but ever present. I'd run my fingers over the fabric long enough to discover lower necklines and shorter cuffs. Jane revealed just a touch more of her beautiful self, and the thought of another man feasting his eyes on what I had been denied to gaze upon for twenty-four months, nay, longer, since she had run away, made my blood heat.

Ere long I detected the sound of crunching gravel. A person walked about. The step was gentle, but certain. I knew my little wife's gait anywhere, and how typical of her to traverse on foot, refusing to send for the carriage. Jane was a child of nature, a sprite from the jovial woodlands. Contentment filled her soul when at one with her elements. She was my element.

"Edward?" I heard my fairy ask in that ethereal voice of hers. It was soft and dream-like, much like her entire person. "What brings you outdoors?" I kept my eyes closed and felt her shadow cross over me. She was so close. So close. Just inches separated us, I knew. Her nearness made me shudder.

"Are you all right, dearest?" I felt her lower herself and press her lips, soft and gentle, to mine. "Forgive my lateness, but Adele and I had such a fine day. She inquired after her 'ami, Monsieur Rochester'".

_Dear Lord, please let this be real. Please let me see her when I open my eyes._

God in His abundant mercy heard my silent plea. I rose from my place on the boulder, sore back, stiff joints forgotten. For when I opened my eyes... When I opened my eyes...

Jane grasped my forearm. "Edward, pray tell, are you all right? Do you need me to fetch for the doctor? You look quite feverish? Your face is flushed and...your eyes. Something - something is different."

All I could do was continue drinking in the fullness of her expression, staring as if beholding her for the very first time. I was a man who had rediscovered his lost love; a man who had been given a second chance at life. Why had God been so merciful to me, the greatest of sinners?

My darling's ruby lips began to tremble as she could no longer find the words. She knew. She must have! How could I hide the desire in my eyes as I drank her all in?

I pressed my fingers to her ivory cheeks, tracing the curve of her jaw and the tiny cleft of her chin. My finger reached out to capture one of her newly formed curls. I had felt them plenty, knew the sensation of her hair against my fingers as my very own, but to behold them, to witness the new fashion that was Jane's...my Jane. I had never seen her quite so. She was more than beautiful. More than exquisite. I fixated my eyes to her damp, hazel ones. They overfilled with tears. Mine grew suspiciously wet. I smiled with true feeling.

"Edward!" she gasped. "You can...see, can't you?"

My heart was so overwhelmed with emotion. I chose instead to remove her shawl and say, "That gold chain glittering about your neck has a rather familiar pendant affixed. It's been some time since I viewed my watch." But it was not the watch where my gaze traveled and fixated upon, rather the bosom where that pendant perched slightly higher than her bosom.

My Jane pulled me to her, enveloping me in a tight embrace. I heard her weep with joy while she, too, thanked the Almighty profusely. "We will have to take you to the oculist in London, Edward, to see how much of your sight you have regained."

"We will go tomorrow. Depart first thing in the morning."

When first shocks settled, and the waning sun told it was soon time to sup, we returned indoors. We decided not to speak a word of my newfound vision to anyone until we received the doctor's report. In the interim, we would behave as usual. Though that plan did not go as easy as when said. I could not sit still during the course of the meal. Jane's easy, practical, and polite conversation did not suit my eager impulses. It was good to hear of Adele, pleasing to know she continued to improve in lady-like qualities, grace, and manners, but I wanted... You may very well imagine what I wanted. And as soon as Jane had removed the napkin from her lap and settled it neatly across the table, I jumped from my seat, plucked her out from hers, and carried her upstairs.

"It is too early to go to bed," she protested laughingly while Mary watched in shock, amusement, and horror as I whisked past her with Jane as my prisoner.

"I have no intentions of sleeping as you are certainly aware, Mrs. Rochester."

Without putting her down, I managed to turn the bedroom handle and open the door. I kicked the door shut behind us eagerly. Were it not for the impending ride to London, I swear I would not have left that room for anything.


End file.
